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NULMA 

AN   ANGLO-AUSTRALIAN    ROMANCE 


MRS.  CAMPBELL-PRAED'S  BOOKS. 


Mrs.   Tregaskiss.       A   Novel    of  Anglo- 
Australian   Life.      i2mo.      Paper,   50  cents; 
cloth,  $1.00. 
"A  fascinating  love  tale." — Eimira  Telegram. 

"  Among  the  authors  who  have  given  us  pictures  of  bush 
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vivid  or  interesting  than  Mrs.  Campbell-l'raed." —  San 
Francisco  Call. 

Outlaw  and  Lawmaker.    i2mo.   Paper, 

50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  book  is  full  throughout  of  surprises  of  an  intense- 
ly dramatic  cnaracter,  and  shows  remarkable  ability  in  the 
execution  of  plot." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"The  story  is  thoroughly  entertaining  and  the  charac- 
ters are  admirably  drawn." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  December    Roses."     121110.     Paper, 

50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  For  nobility  of  conception,  delicacy  of  touch,  and  sus 
tained  action,  excels  any  of  the  author's  earlier  efforts." — 
Baltimore  A  merican. 

"A  bright  little  story,  told  with  the  author's  usual  pic- 
turesque liveliness  of  coloring." — London  Literary  World. 

"  Christina     Chard."      i2mo.      Paper, 

50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mrs.  Campbell. Praed  has  written  several  interesting 
novels,  but  none  more  thoroughly  so  and  more  exquisitely 
finished  in  styleth  an  '  Christina  Chard.'  This  novel  is  one 
to  be  studied  as  well  as  read." — Bcston  Advertiser. 

"The  story  is  brightly  written,  is  full  of  wit  and  sar- 
casm, and  is  sure  to  please  the  lover  of  spirited  fiction." — 
Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


New  York:  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


NULMA 


AN  ANGLO-AUSTRALIAN  ROMANCE 


BY 


MRS.    CAMPBELL-PRAED 

AUTHOR    OF    MRS.    TREGASKISS,    CHRISTINA    CHARD, 
OUTLAW    AND     LAWMAKER,    ETC. 


NEW   YORK 
D.    APPLETON    AND   COMPANY 

1897 


Copyright,  1897, 
By  D.  APPLETON  AND    COMPANY. 


si  gi 

CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I. — On  deck i 

II. — The  state  entry 18 

III. — In  the  piazza 31 

IV. — Nulma's  compact 45 

V. — The  government  house  reception         .        .  65 

VI. — Van  Vechten's  love 86 

VII. — Nulma's  first  dinner  party    ....  100 

VIII. — Confidences        .        .        .        .        «        .        .  117 

IX.— "IS   IT   ALL   PAST?" I38 

X. — Lady  Arthur's  martyrdom      ....  152 

XI. — The  birthday  ball 166 

XII. — The  triumphal  progress 182 

XIII. — The  sprig  of  wattle 198 

XIV. — The  woman  strikes 216 

XV. — Nulma's  fate 234 

XVI. — The  home-coming       .  247 

XVII.— The  ordeal 262 

XVIII. — "There's  no  third  place  in  it"    .        .        .  274 

V 


1501471 


NULMA. 


CHAPTER    I. 


ON    DECK. 


There  was  at  this  time  much  excitement  in 
Leichardt's  Land.  The  Governor  had  finished  his 
term  of  office,  and  a  new  Governor  was  about  to 
take  his  place.  There  were  also  other  changes  in 
the  general  administration  of  law  and  order.  The 
first  Chief  Justice  who  had  come  out  with  the  Gov- 
ernor on  the  formation  of  the  colony  into  a  separate 
independency  was  dead,  and  his  successor,  ap- 
pointed in  England — a  cause  of  offence  to  the 
Leichardtstonians — was  to  arrive  at  the  same  time 
as  the  new  Governor.  The  Leichardtstonians  were 
not  altogether  pleased  at  the  choice  that  had  been 
made  in  the  matter  of  their  new  Governor.  They 
were  a  little  spoiled.  The  former  Administrator 
and  the  inaugurator  as  well  of  their  political  inde- 
pendence, had  been  a  young  man  of  mark  in  his 
way,  and  of  considerable  intellectual  endowments. 
Moreover,  he  had  brought  out  as  his  bride  a  lady 
who  was  very  beautiful — a  foreigner  of  high  birth 


2  NULMA. 

and  great  social  attractions,  who  had  at  once  cap- 
tivated the  warm-hearted  Lcichardtstonians.  To 
be  sure,  the  colony  was  a  baby,  so  to  speak,  and 
had  no  right  to  expect  the  best  that  was  going; 
but  babies  are  proverbially  exacting  and  loud- 
voiced  in  their  complaints;  and  Leichardt's  Land 
felt  aggrieved,  and  declared  openly  that  if  she  were 
not  good  enough  to  have  a  peer,  like  two  of  her 
sister  colonies,  or  an  ex-diplomat  of  some  distinc- 
tion and  wealth  like  another,  she  should  at  least 
have  been  given  something  better  than  a  worn- 
out  soldier,  whose  health  and  energy  had  been 
sapped  by  African  fevers  in  his  last  governorship; 
who  was  only  a  commoner,  and  not  a  wealthy  one, 
and  who  was,  moreover,  a  widower. 

That  last  fact  certainly  might,  under  some  con- 
ditions, have  been  a  recommendation;  but  it  was 
generally  known  that  Colonel  Burnside,  as  the  new 
Governor  was  named,  did  not  care  for  society,  and 
was  too  old  to  think  of  altering  his  state.  Matrons 
and  maids  wailed  loudly,  declaring  that  Government 
House  would  never  be  again  what  it  had  been  in 
dear  Lady  Randal's  time;  and  there  had  been  even 
talk  of  a  protest  on  the  part  of  Leichardt's  Land 
to  her  Majesty's  Government. 

In  the  midst  of  the  general  discontent  there 
came  a  drop  of  balm  into  the  cup  of  bitterness. 
Though  the  new  Governor  was  a  widower,  it  be- 
came known  that  his  late  wife  had  been  the  sister 
of  the  present  Marquis  of  Kelvin,  and  that  the  lady 


ON   DECK.  3 

who  would  do  the  honours  of  Government  House 
was  a  certain  Lady  Arthur  Keefe,  wife  of  Colonel 
Burnside's  nephew  by  marriage,  whom  he  was 
bringing  out  as  his  private  secretary.  To  have  a 
Lady  Arthur,  a  Marquis's  daughter-in-law,  at  the 
head  of  social  affairs  was  the  next  best  thing  to  hav- 
ing a  genuine  peeress,  and  Leichardt's  Town  was 
to  a  certain  extent  comforted. 

Of  course,  Lord  Arthur  Keefe  was  only  a  fourth 
son,  and  it  was  agreed  that  he  must  be  poor  to  ac- 
cept such  an  appointment,  which  took  away  from 
the  consolation.  But  again  it  was  suggested  that 
he,  too,  might  have  delicate  lungs,  like  the  new 
Chief  Justice,  that  eminent  barrister,  Outram  Ken- 
ward,  O.  C,  who  was  throwing  up  a  successful  prac- 
tice and  good  prospects  as  a  likely  member  of  Par- 
liament solely  because  his  doctor  had  declared  it 
absolutely  necessary  that  he  should  pass  several 
years  in  a  warm,  dry  climate,  the  air  of  Leichardt's 
Land,  it  is  well  known,  being  a  certain  preventive 
against  tendency  to  consumption. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  speculation  rife  about 
Lady  Arthur.  In  those  days  volumes  of  Burke  and 
Debrett  were  not  plentiful  in  Leichardt's  Land,  for 
social  exigencies  did  not  often  require  the  consulta- 
tion of  a  table  of  precedence;  but  in  time  it  became 
duly  established  that,  oddly  enough,  she  also  was 
a  foreigner;  presumably,  however,  nobody  of  dis- 
tinction, for  she  was  set  down  simply  as  Marguerite, 
daughter  of  one   Charles  Mallalieu — without  even 


4  NULMA. 

a  "  de  " — of  Brussels.  Then  it  was  whispered  that 
she  was  a  little  older  than  her  husband,  and  that 
she,  like  the  brilliant  Lady  Randal,  was  very  hand- 
some and  very  charming,  so  that  though  the  elder 
ladies  of  Leichardt's  Town,  most  of  whom  were  of 
English  extraction,  frowned,  the  young  married 
women  and  the  girls  plucked  up  heart,  for  they 
now  felt  pretty  certain  that  there  would  be  good 
times  at  Government  House,  after  all. 

The  object  of  this  discussion  suspected  some- 
thing of  what  was  being  said  about  her.  She  was 
sitting  on  the  deck  of  the  man-of-war  which  had 
been  sent  on  from  the  capital  of  the  next  colony 
to  convey  the  new  Governor  to  Leichardt's  Town, 
the  small  coasting  steamer  not  being  in  those  days 
considered  good  enough  for  such  distinguished 
passengers.  It  was  the  evening  before  they  were 
to  arrive  at  their  destination.  Lady  Arthur  was 
lying  upon  a  deck-chair,  her  profile  showing  clearly 
in  the  moonlight  against  a  background  of  bulwarks, 
and,  as  the  vessel  lurched,  of  deep  blue  sky  in  which 
the  Southern  constellations  shone  palely.  She  was 
certainly  a  very  pretty  woman,  more  charming, 
perhaps,  than  absolutely  pretty,  with  that  charm 
of  a  certain  exotic  type — creamy  skin,  narrow  oval 
face,  slightly  aquiline  nose,  a  seductive  sort  of  smile, 
full-lidded,  short-sighted-looking  dark  eyes,  with 
arched  brows  and  crinkly  dark  hair,  parted  above 
the  brows.  She  had  something  of  the  foreign  man- 
ner of  gesticulation  too,  but,  when  she  spoke,  only 


ON   DECK.  5 

a  very  slight  accent.  At  a  little  distance  from  her, 
in  a  more  sheltered  part  of  the  deck,  sat  the  Gov- 
ernor, a  fine-looking  old  man  with  a  heavy  white 
moustache,  and  it  was  evident,  even  in  the  moon- 
light, a  yellow,  unhealthy  skin.  He  was  smoking 
a  cigar  and  talking  to  one  of  the  officers.  By  the 
side  of  the  vessel  stood  a  tall,  slightly  corpulent 
young  man,  with  a  handsome,  expressionless  face, 
heavy  in  mould,  a  pointed,  blonde  moustache,  and 
thin,  closely-cropped  fair  hair.  He  looked  stupid, 
but  noticeably  a  gentleman.  He  was  smoking,  too, 
in  company  of  another  of  the  officers,  and  every 
now  and  then  lifted  his  large  head,  which  he  kept 
when  speaking  rather  bent  forward,  to  glance  in 
the  direction  of  Lady  Arthur  and  a  man  she  was 
talking  to.  The  corpulent  gentleman  was  Lord 
Arthur  Keefe,  the  lady's  husband,  and  Governor 
Burnside's  private  secretary.  Her  companion  was 
the  Chief  Justice. 

An  aide-de-camp  and  one  or  two  other  men 
were  lounging  upon  the  deck.  The  man  to  whom 
Lady  Arthur  was  talking  was  of  quite  a  different 
type  from  the  members  of  the  Governor's  staff  or 
the  officers  of  the  man-of-war.  He  was  impressive- 
looking,  with  a  massive,  inscrutable  kind  of  face, 
its  large  features  seeming  larger  because  of  his  ex- 
cessive leanness,  the  nose  was  slightly  hooked,  and 
he  had  that  peculiar  flexible  mouth,  stern,  and  yet 
humorous,  which  seems  to  be  a  characteristic  of 
the  legal  profession.    His  shoulders  were  broad,  and 


6  NULMA. 

he  had  the  makings  of  a  strikingly  powerful  and 
athletic  frame;  but  the  effect  was  again  spoiled  by 
his  leanness  and  an  evident  constitutional  delicacy 
out  of  keeping  with  Nature's  original  intention. 
He  had  very  deep-set  dark  eyes,  and  a  way  of  gaz- 
ing at  the  person  whom  he  addressed  that  would 
in  the  witness-box  be  disconcerting;  and  he  had 
also  a  rather  wearied  expression,  as  if  the  banalities 
of  life  had  been  a  little  too  oppressive.  His  hair 
was  almost  coal  black,  but  had  one  striking  pecul- 
iarity. On  the  left  side,  from  almost  the  crown  of 
the  head  to  the  tip  of  the  ear,  there  was  a  patch  of 
silvery  white.  He  was  not  a  young  man,  but  he 
looked  older  than  his  years,  which  were  about 
thirty-five.  He  had  been  gazing  very  intently  at 
Lady  Arthur  as  she  lay  back,  softly  furling  and 
unfurling  a  fan  with  steel  spangles,  which  reflected 
the  light  from  the  companion-way.  They  had  been 
silent  for  a  minute  or  two.  He  broke  the  silence 
abruptly : 

"  I  know  you  don't  object  to  my  smoking." 

She  laughed.  "  That  should  be  an  established 
fact  by  this  time.  Besides,  Arthur  is  hardly  ever 
without  a  cigarette — except  when  he  is  absolutely 
on  duty." 

She  watched  him  take  out  his  case,  and  delib- 
erately select  a  cigar,  which  he  lighted  and  puffed 
slowly  without  speaking. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  exclaimed,  "  what  they  expect 
of  me  over  there." 


ON    DECK. 


.-< 


You'll  soon  find  out.  To-morrow  you  will 
have  come  into  your  kingdom." 

"  No,  I  shan't  find  out — not  at  once,  anyhow; 
one  never  does  till  one  has  made  irretrievable  mis- 
takes." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  make  mistakes." 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  she  asked  with 
some  sharpness. 

'  Well,  you  haven't  made  any  as  yet." 

"  I  have  made  one  great  and  irretrievable  mis- 
take— no,  I  have  made  two." 

'  Tell  me."  He  bent  towards  her,  and  added, 
with  a  caressing  touch  in  his  voice,  "  I  hope 
you  are  not  going  to  say  something  which  it 
would  pain  me  to  hear?  I  think  I  know  the  first 
mistake." 

He  gave  an  almost  imperceptible  glance  towards 
the  spot  where  Lord  Arthur  was  standing,  out  of 
earshot  of  the  two.  Lady  Arthur  followed  the 
direction  of  his  eyes,  and  made  an  equally  imper- 
ceptible nod. 

"Yes,  that's  one." 

'  The  great  and  irretrievable  one.  And  the 
other?" 

"  Can't  you  guess  that,  too.  From  what  you 
said,  I  should  think  you  must  do  so." 

'  I  suppose  I  do.  You  have  been  hinting  at 
regrets  lately.  And  this  is  the  last  evening!  That's 
what  I  meant.     Why  be  unkind — now?" 

"  Do  you  really  care?  " 


8  NULMA. 

'  You  know  I  care.  Haven't  I  given  the  best 
proof  of  it?" 

'In  coming. out  here?  But  that  was  a  great 
deal  my  doing." 

"  And — you    forget — Sir   Alured    Lake's." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  you  couldn't  have  stood  another  win- 
ter."    The  statement   was  half  interrogative. 

'  I  dare  say  I  should  have  knocked  under.  Sir 
Alured  said  so,  anyhow.  Oh,  I  haven't  the  faintest 
doubt  as  to  the  wisdom  of  my  coming  out  here — 
in  the  long-run,"  he  went  on  quietly.  "  It  should 
help  my  career.  I  shall  be  dealing  with  new  ele- 
ments, and  itls  always  a  good  thing  to  get  out  of 
the  old-world  rut;  one  can  always  go  back  to  it 
again." 

"  If  in  the  meantime  one  isn't  forgotten,"  she 
interposed. 

"  The  new  colony  is  in  people's  mouths,"  he  an- 
swered. '  I  shall  be  kept  before  the  public  even 
better  than  if  a  big  case  were  to  hoist  me  into  promi- 
nence in  England.  Didn't  our  predecessor  Randal 
quote  from  somebody  or  other  in  his  farewell 
speech  the  sentiment  that  to  help  in  the  formation 
of  a  new  State  is  to  write  one's  name  upon  the  bark 
of  a  sapling  which  will  grow  to  a  forest  oak?  The 
writing  grows  with  the  tree,  and  becomes  an  ad- 
vertisement. In  these  days  careers  need  advertis- 
ing." 

"  You  think  of  nothing  but  your  career,"  said 
the  lady  with  a  plaintive  note  in  her  voice. 


ON    DECK.  9 

"  Indeed,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  don't  think  you 
ought  to  say  that." 

She  put  out  a  slim  hand  and  just  touched  his 
coat  sleeve.  '  We  seem  to  be  sparring;  and  it  is 
the  last  evening." 

"  Isn't  that  just  what  I  wanted  to  impress  upon 
you  when  you  spoke  of  regrets?  " 

"  But  I  did  not  speak  of  regrets,"  she  rejoined 
warmly;  "  or  if  there  were  regrets  in  my  mind,  they 
were  the  reflection  of  those  in  yours." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  added  presently  with  one  of  her 
winning  smiles,  "  the  mistake  I  meant — the  second 
one — is  not  so  serious  as  you  may  have  imagined. 
I  remember  that  when  I  was  married,  and  we 'were 
thinking  of  going  to  the  States  for  our  wedding- 
trip,  Blanche  Wilford  said  to  me,  '  My  dear,  don't 
do  it ;  you  can't  imagine  what  a  disenchanting  thing 
a  voyage  is:  one  would  hate  even  one's  lover  at  the 
end  of  it— how  much  more  one's  husband ! '  Sounds 
immoral,  doesn't  it?  But  you  see  the  applica- 
tion?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  It  is  exactly  the  sentiment, 
however,  that  I  should  have  expected  from  your 
friend  Mrs.  Wilford.  And  there  I  do  see  the  appli- 
cation." 

"How  horrid  of  you!  To  hear  you  talk,  one 
would  imagine  you  a  worn-out  cynic  instead  of 
the  most  romantic  being  ever  created." 

."That's  rather  strong,   isn't  it?      I   prefer  the 
imputation  of  being  a  cynic." 


IO  NULMA. 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  romantic,  notwithstanding," 
she  said;  "you  keep  your  illusions  down  deep  at 
the  bottom  of  your  heart,  but  they  are  there  all  the 
same.  No,  I  haven't  got  any  illusions  about  you," 
she  added  with  faint  bitterness,  "  and  I  know  you 
have  none  about  me;  that's  the  worst  of  it  all.  You 
take  us — women  like  me,  of  the  world,  worldly — 
just  at  the  valuation  the  world  puts  upon  us;  we 
are  part  of  the  game  to  you,  and  even  if  you  lose 
your  heads  in  the  excitement  of  the  play,  you  don't 
do  so  to  the  extent  of  seeing  us  with  halos  round 
ours." 

"  A  halo  wouldn't  be  a  becoming  head-dress  to 
you,"  he  answered.  "  It  only  suits  the  Madonna 
type,  which  is  distinctly  uninteresting." 

'  I  wonder  if  you  would  find  it  so.  I  don't  feel 
at  all  sure.  Listen,  and  I  will  make  you  a  frank 
confession  of  my  lurking  fear  about  you.  I  never 
felt  the  least  jealous  of  Nora  Glassthwaite  in  spite 
of  her  good  looks  and  her  money  and  all  the  talk 
there  was  once  about  you  and  her;  but  I  do  believe 
that  you  are  the  kind  of  man  capable  of  marrying 
a  girl  out  of  a  convent,  and  adoring  her  innocence 
— as  long  as  she  kept  it.  I  know  that  there's  a  sort 
of  fascination  for  you  in  the  notion  of  moulding 
a  child  of  Nature." 

"  Possibly,"  he  answered  coldly,  "  on  the  theory 
of  reaction.  But  I  don't  fancy  that  a  convent 
boarding-school  is  exactly  the  place  where  one 
would  go  to  look  for  the  child  of  Nature." 


ON   DECK.  II 

"  Ah,  well,  perhaps  not.  /  was  educated  in  a 
convent." 

There  was  silence  again.  Kenward  puffed  his 
cigar,  and  she  fanned  herself.  Presently  Lord  Ar- 
thur came  up  to  them. 

"  The  Governor  wants  his  whist.  I  suppose 
you  don't  care  to  take  a  hand,  Margot?" 

"  No,  I  think  not  to-night;  it's  nicer  up  here." 

"Nor  you,  Kenward?" 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  also  replied  the  Chief  Jus- 
tice. "  I  am  of  Lady  Arthur's  opinion,  that  it's 
nicer  up  here." 

"  Oh,  well,  there  are  plenty  to  make  up 
the  game.  I  suppose  I  must  go;  it's  a  beastly 
bore." 

But  he  lingered,  looking  at  his  wife  in  that 
stolid,  questioning  way  of  his  which  at  times  irri- 
tated her  intensely.  Somehow,  it  did  not  harmonize 
with  his  youthful  face  and  boyish  manner. 

'  You  and  Kenward  seemed  to  be  having  a 
pretty  deep  discussion,"  he  said.  "  What  were  you 
talking  about?" 

'  I  was  telling  him  that  he'd  end  by  marrying 
a  child  of  Nature,"  she  returned. 

"  Oh — well!"  Lord  Arthur  had  a  way  of  say- 
ing "  Oh — well!  "  which  also  irritated  his  wife.  '  I 
should  think  he'd  be  more  likely  to  find  her  in  these 
parts  than  over  there." 

"  Than  in  a  convent  school,"  she  interrupted. 
'  That's  just  what   he  was   saying   himself."     She 


12  NULMA. 

gave  a  jangling  little  laugh,  ami  made  an  impa- 
tient movement  in  her  long  chair. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  about  a  convent.  What  put 
that  in  your  head?  I  was  thinking  of  London," 
replied  Lord  Arthur.  ;i  Is  anything  the  matter  with 
you,  Margot?" 

'  Nothing;  I'm  feeling  a  little  nervous  at  the 
prospect  before  me,  that's  all.  I  hear  that  the 
Leichardtstonians  made  a  goddess  out  of  Lady 
Randal.  Do  you  suppose  they'll  want  to  put 
me  on  a  pedestal  too,  and  worship  me?  Be- 
cause I  don't  think  I  can  live  up  to  that  kind 
of  thing.  Now,  do  you  fancy  I  shall  satisfy 
them?" 

"  Satisfy  them!  why,  of  course.  Haven't  you 
always  satisfied  everyone?" 

Lord  Arther  turned  his  slow  gaze  again  on  his 
wife;  this  time  it  was  a  gaze  of  admiration. 

"  That's  a  delightful  view  of  one  for  one's  hus- 
band to  take.  But  remember  I  come  after  Lady 
Randal." 

"  Oh,  confound  Lady  Randal!  She  has  been 
crammed  down  our  throats  ever  since  we  heard 
of  the  appointment.  Come,  Margot,  there's  a  so- 
cial ambition  for  you:  beat  Lady  Randal  on  her 
own  ground." 

"She  has  departed  from  the  ground;  it  would 
be  fighting  a  ghost.  And  ghosts  don't  make  mis- 
takes and  do  stupid  things." 

"Don't  they?"  put  in  the  Chief  Justice.     "I 


ON   DECK. 


13 


always  thought  that  a  want  of  common-sense  was 
the  principal  characteristic  of  ghosts." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  you  won't  do  stupid  things, 
Margot,"  said  Lord  Arthur. 

Lady  Arthur  got  up  with  a  rustle  of  her  dra- 
peries. 

"  I'm  going  to  walk,  and  that's  a  stupid  thing 
this  hot  weather.  Be  off  to  your  game,  Arthur: 
you  mustn't  keep  his  Excellency  waiting." 

Lord  Arthur  left  them.  Kenward  had  risen 
too.    "  May  I  offer  you  my  arm?  " 

She  took  it,  and  twice  they  made  the  turn  of 
the  deck  without  speaking.  Then  she  stopped  and 
leaned  over  the  bulwarks,  her  chin  resting  upon  her 
clasped  hands.  They  were  now  practically  alone. 
The  Governor  and  suite,  as  the  newspapers  would 
put  it,  had  gone  down.  The  Chief  Justice  glanced 
cautiously  round,  then  came  closer  to  her  and 
softly  put  his  hand  on  one  of  hers,  unclasping  it 
from  the  other  and  holding  it  in  his  own. 

"Margot!"  he  said  in  that  low,  deep  voice 
of  his  which  could  be  at  times  almost  a  caress. 
"  Why  are  you  cruel  to  me — on  this  our  last 
night?" 

"  /  cruel — to  you!  " 

"  What  else  is  it  but  cruelty,  to  talk  of  the  dis- 
enchantment of  a  voyage,  to  hint  at  regrets  and  at 
mistakes?  Aren't  we  too  good  friends  for  that  kind 
of  thing?  " 

"  J/riends!  yes,  that's  just  it.     Outram,  doesn't 


14  NULMA. 

it  strike  you  sometimes  that  this  very — friendship 
has  been  a  great  mistake." 

"  No;  it  has  not  struek  me — till  now." 
'  You  want  to  imply  that  I  am  making  it  so 
by  my  way  of  taking  this  matter,  when  of  course  it 
must  be — as  it  is.  I  dare  say  that  I  am  unreason- 
able and  exacting  and  tactless.  A  woman  always 
is,  when  she  cares  as  much  as  I  care,  and  when 
she  sees,  afar  off  it  may  be,  but  still  certain,  the 
end." 

'  What  would  you  have  me  do?  So  far,  I  have 
entirely  obeyed  your  commands.  You  wished  me 
to  accept  the  Leichardt's  Land  appointment,  and  I 
have  done  so." 

"  Ah,  it  was  me,  then,  whom  you  obeyed,  not 
Sir  Alured?"  With  characteristic  change  of  mood, 
she  turned  on  him  one  of  those  serious  yet  co- 
quettish smiles  which  made  the  greatest  charm  of 
her  face.  "  Outram,"  she  went  on,  her  manner 
changing  again,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  been 
feeling  these  last  days.  It  is  not  weariness  or  dis- 
satisfaction with  myself,  or  even  with  you,  though 
I  have  fancied  you  were  different — that  you  had 
grown  colder " 

'  You  forget,"  he  interrupted,  "  that  we  have 
been,  as  it  were,  under  a  telescope." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know.  And  I  suppose  we  shall  be 
still  more  under  a  telescope  when  we  get  to  Leich- 
ardt's Land.  A  case  of  '  the  '  fierce  light,  et  cet- 
era, don't  you  know.     No;  it's  the  falseness  of  the 


ON   DECK. 


15 


position  that  has  been  coming  home  to  me.  I  did 
not  feel  it  before,  when  one  could  get  away  from 
things,  and  when  Arthur  was  in  India  and  one  was 
comparatively  free.  But  now — there's  no  escape 
on  board  a  steamer.  Arthur  is  always  there;  and 
the  old  man  is  always  there ;  and  the  aides  look  on, 
and  maybe  form  their  own  conclusions;  and  you — 
that  very  mask  you  wear  in  public  drives  me  wild! 
It's  a  denial  of  me." 

"Oh,  Margot!" 

"  Of  course  I'm  foolish  and  unreasonable  to  re- 
sent what  you  do  in  protection  of  me.  But  we 
have  been  so  horribly — friendly.  And  to  think  of 
its  going  on — the  friendliness,  and  nothing  more! 
— month  after  month ;  you  playing  your  part,  and  I 
mine,  till  yours  ceases  to  be  a  part;  till  I  become  in 
very  truth  no  more  to  you  than  a  friend — a  woman 
whom  you  once  loved,  and  have  come  to  pity;  who 
was  of  use  to  you  in  the  beginning  of  your  career, 
but  who  is  getting  monotonous,  and,  in  short,  in- 
convenient. One  knows  the  stages.  Then  comes 
the  inevitable — the  young  girl." 

"  Margot,  do  you  not  give  me  credit  for  any 
feeling  of  honour?  " 

'  Yes ;  I  give  you  credit  for  more  than  most 
men  have.  I  think  you  would  hesitate  a  good  deal, 
and  I  should  see  the  hesitation.  It  would  madden 
me  more  than  if  you  came  and  told  me  the  truth 
outright — that  you  were  tired  of  me — and  I  should 
perhaps  do  something  desperate  and  wicked.     Lis- 


1 6  NULMA. 

ten,  Outram.  I'm  in  a  magnificent  mood  to-night; 
ready  to  let  you  have  your  freedom,  if  you  choose 
to  accept  it.  Do  you  choose?  You  may  never  have 
the  chance  again." 

He  threw  away  the  butt   of  the  cigar  he  had 
been  smoking,  but  did  not  answer. 

'  Do  you  choose?  "  she  repeated.  "  Think;  you 
may  be  quite  free  of  me — free  to  court  the  child  of 
Nature  without  a  qualm;  free  to  go  back  again  to 
your  beloved  London  and  its  fogs." 

'  Which  would  soon  finish  up  my  shaky  lungs. 
Besides,  isn't  it  rather  late  for  that,  considering 
that  I  shall  be  installed  to-morrow  as  Chief  Justice 
of  Leichardt's  Land." 

'  Well,  you  can  stay  a  year,  till  your  lungs  are 
all  right  again.  Our  term  is  five,  and  by  the  end 
of  it  you  will  have  forgotten  me.  In  the  meantime, 
we  shall  make  our  bow  and  cuntsey  prettily  to  each 
other — you  as  the  Chief  Justice,  and  I  as  the  lady 
of  Government  House;  and  we  shall  endeavour  to 
control  our  emotions  in  accordance  with  the  dignity 
of  our  respective  situations.  Come,  do  you  ac- 
cept?" 

"  No." 

"  Thank  you,  Outram." 

She  tilted  up  her  face  upon  the  palm  of  her 
hand,  and  the  moonlight  was  reflected  in  her  shin- 
ing eyes.  His  eyes,  as  he  returned  the  gaze,  were 
full  of  trouble  and  of  a  certain  struggling  pas- 
sion. 


ON    DECK. 


17 


"  If  we  were  anywhere  else,"  he  whispered,  "  I 
would  give  you  a  different  sort  of  assurance." 

She  seemed  to  drink  in  his  words,  and  heaved 
a  deep  sigh  of  content. 

'  Thank  you,  Outram,"  she  murmured  again. 


CHAPTER    II. 


THE    STATE    ENTRY. 


The  4pan-of-\var  was  at  anchor  in  the  bay.  It 
was  a  brilliant  morning.  The  month  was  March, 
but  an  unusual  freshness  had  succeeded  the  muggy 
heat  of  the  last  week  or  two.  March  in  Australia 
is  as  fickle  as  her  companion  month  in  Engtand, 
only  she  is  less  blustering  about  her  changes;  it 
may  be  very  cool  in  March,  or  the  heat  may  be 
tropical;  everything  depends  upon  when  the  rainy 
season  begins  and  ends.  To-day  the  sky  was  of  a 
Mediterranean  blue,  the  sea  also.  Upon  the  bar 
white  breakers  made  a  shiny  line.  Low-lying,  man- 
grove-covered flats  stretched  down  to  the  harbour. 
Beyond  stood  higher  ground,  and  in  the  far  distance 
rose  the  conical  peaks  of  some  blue  mountains. 

The  Government  tender,  gaily  decorated  with 
flags,  was  drawn  up  alongside  of  the  man-of-war. 
The  acting  Governor,  whose  glory  was  now  almost 
at  an  end,  the  acting  President  of  the  Legislative 
Council,  the  Premier  and  his  colleagues,  and  nearly 
all  the  prominent  officials  of  Leichardt's  Town,  had 


THE    STATE    ENTRY.  Iq 

come  down  to  receive  the  new  Governor  and  his 
party,  and  to  welcome  the  Chief  Justice. 

There  was  a  banquet  on  the  man-of-war  before 
the  re-embarkation  took  place.  Lady  Arthur  sat 
between  the  Governor  and  the  Vice-Governor,  who 
would  be  formally  deposed  as  soon  as  his  successor 
had  taken  the  oath.  She  had  been  at  great  pains 
with  her  appearance,  and  was  looking  particularly 
well;  she  also  did  her  best  to  be  charming  to  the 
Vice-Governor — who  was,  properly  speaking,  Presi- 
dent of  the  Upper  Chamber — and  to  the  Ministers 
and  other  important  people.  Her  best  meant  a 
good  deal,  and  it  was  not  surprising  that  she  cre- 
ated a  favourable  impression.  The  general  opin- 
ion dropped  in  whispers  after  the  banquet  was  that, 
if  not  equal  to  Lady  Randal,  she  was  extremely 
handsome,  and  very  much  in  the  same  style  as  the 
former  Governor's  wife.  This  was  in  her  favour 
with  the  Leichardtstonians,  who  had  had  an  agree- 
able experience  of  foreign  women.  She  was  an 
object  of  even  greater  interest  than  the  Governor 
himself,  whose  manner  to  her,  it  was  remarked, 
was  fatherly,  chivalrous,  and  quite  after  the  old 
school.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  intended 
her  to  exercise  all  due  social  authority,  and  that 
there  was  going  to  be  no  misunderstanding  as  to 
her  position.  To  the  Ministers  and  officials  Colo- 
nel Burnside  was  reserved  and  dignified.  He  was 
shy,  and  his  shyness  made  him  appear  stiff.  If  not 
a  peer,  he  at  any  rate  produced  an  awing  effect 


20  NULMA. 

upon  his  now  subjects.  "  A  martinet!  "  pronounced 
the  Premier,  Mr.  Latham,  a  thin,  hatchet-faced 
gentleman,  whose  arms  and  legs  seemed  set  on 
wires,  and  who  had  narrow,  keen  eyes,  a  goatee 
beard,  and  was  modelled  something  on  Yankee 
lines. 

'  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  James  Goodeve,"  he 
went  on,  "  you'll  have  to  mind  your  p's  and  q's  now 
when  the  Executive  meets.  There'll  be  a  good 
deal  more  ceremony,  you  bet,  than  there  used  to 
be  in  Governor  Randal's  time." 

James  Goodeve  gave  a  gruff  laugh.  lie  was 
a  big,  burly  individual,  with  an  expansive  chest, 
a  bushy  grizzled  beard  and  bristling  moustache. 
He  was  hard  and  rough  in  appearance,  but  looked 
the  person  he  was  speaking  to  straight  in  the  eyes, 
and  gave  an  impression  of  sturdy  independence 
and  good-nature. 

"  Well,  I  domt  know  about  that,"  he  said.  "  It 
has  never  been  my  way  to  mind  my  p's  and  q's  for 
anybody;  and  the  Governor  must  take  me  as  I  am, 
or  leave  me  out  of  his  calculations.  And  my  Nul- 
ma,  too — though,"  he  added  with  another  gruff 
chuckle,  "  I  should  be  surprised  if  he  did  leave  my 
Nulma  behind  the  door  when  her  turn  came.  She's 
good  to  look  at,  if  she's  not  much  good  at  other 
things.     Isn't  that  so,  Latham?" 

"By  Jove,  I  should  think  it  is!"  rejoined  the 
Premier.  "  Nulma  has  grown  up  a  little  beauty. 
But  what  do  you  mean,  Goodeve,  by  hinting  that 


THE    STATE    ENTRY.  21 

your  daughter  mayn't  be  as  good  in  every  way  as 
she  is  to  look  at?  You  are  not  disparaging  her 
moral  character,  I  hope?" 

"  No,  thank  God!  There  never  was  a  sweeter 
or  better  girl  than  my  Nulma.  A  bit  of  a  temper 
— and  a  will  of  her  own,  too,  I  can  tell  you! — but 
who  ever  heard  of  a  real  woman  without  them?" 

"  Well,  then,  look  here:  I'm  not  going  to  have 
my  favourite  Nulma  belittled.  She's  perfection,  and 
there's  an  end  of  it." 

Goodeve  shook  his  big  shoulders,  and  his  face 
beamed. 

'  We  won't  say  much  about  book-learning, 
however,"  he  said.  "  I've  kept  her  back,  and  done 
it  on  purpose,  too.  I  wasn't  going  to  have  her 
spoiled  at  one  of  your  Sydney  or  Melbourne  board- 
ing-schools— turned  into  a  fine  lady,  and  taught 
to  think  herself  too  good  for  her  old  father.  No, 
I  wasn't  going  to  have  that." 

"  And  quite  right,  Goodeve,"  put  in  a  gentle- 
man who  was  standing  behind  the  Premier,  and  had 
pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  mention  of  Nulma.  "  Not 
that  there  was  any  likelihood,  I  should  say,  of  what 
you  seemed  afraid  of;  but  I'm  not  fond  myself  of 
a  boarding-school  education — it's  a  Brummagem 
sort  of  imitation  of  the  real  thing,  and  I'm  glad 
Miss  Nulma  hasn't  had  it.  By  the  way,  has  she  had 
time  to  try  the  new  horse  yet?  " 

"  She  is  waiting  for  you,  Van  Vechten,  to  come 
and  take  her  out.     No,  it  isn't  that,  but  little  Luce 


22  NULMA. 

Perryman  has  had  an  accident — hurt  her  back — 
and  has  to  keep  lying  down  all  the  time.  So  Nulma 
has  been  over  with  her  a  lot,  nursing  and  cheering 
her  up.  I  say,  can't  you  come  out  to  the  Bunyas 
on  Saturday.  You  might  go  for  a  ride  with  us,  and 
stop  to  dinner — we'll  be  glad  to  see  you." 

'  Thank  you,"  replied  Van  Vechten.  "  Yes,  I 
will  come  with  pleasure." 

"  All  right,  I'll  tell  Lulu.  Now,  I  suppose  I 
had  better  try  to  make  myself  agreeable  to  some 
of  these  big-wigs?  What  do  you  think  of  our  new 
Chief  Justice?"  And  he  glanced  over  to  where 
Kenward  was  talking  on  the  other  side  of  the  deck 
to  one  of  the  Leichardt's  Town  legal  luminaries. 

"  Looks  a  man,"  returned  Van  Vechten  shortly. 
"  The  old  one  was  a  molly-coddle." 

'  Yes,"  assented  Goodeve.  "  Anyhow,  he  is  not 
a  molly-coddle,  though  they  say  he  has  come  out 
for  his  health.  You'll  not  be  up  at  the  swearing-in 
business  like  the  rest  of  us?  Lucky  for  you  that 
you  ain't  a  '  responsible  adviser '!  I'll  be  glad  when 
the  fuss  and  botheration  are  over  and  we  settle 
down  to  work  again." 

And  the  big  man  moved  off. 

The  other  remained  for  a  minute  or  two,  his 
clean-shaved,  stern  face  softened  by  the  shadow 
of  that  smile  which  had  come  upon  it  when  he 
began  to  talk  of  Nulma.  It  was  a  face  which  some- 
how suggested  a  Middle  Age  carving  in  very  old 
and  ancient  ivory;  the  skin,  a  blending  of  brown 


THE   STATE    ENTRY. 


23 


and  yellow,  was  drawn  tightly  over  the  bridge  of 
the  straight  nose  and  the  rather  high  cheek-bones, 
having  a  number  of  tiny  wrinkles  at  the  corners 
of  the  eyes  and  between  the  nostrils  and  chin.  It 
would  have  been  difficult  to  guess  Van  Vechten's 
age.  He  might  have  been  anything  between  fifty- 
five  and  twenty-five,  for  there  was  a  kind  of  im- 
movableness  about  his  features  and  expression 
which  defied  the  ravages  of  time.  His  stolidity, 
however,  was  that  of  strength,  not  of  weakness. 
Van  Vechten  had  sometimes  been  called  a  man 
of  iron.  He  had  an  inflexible  will,  a  contempt 
for  public  opinion,  and  rigidly  exacted  the  full  meed 
in  all  his  dealings  with  others.  He  was  severe,  but 
he  was  also  just.  His  blue  eyes  were  sharp  as  steel, 
but  they  were  honest  as  those  of  James  Goodeve, 
which  is  saying  much. 

He  was  a  merchant  of  Dutch  extraction,  as  his 
name  told,  who  had  amassed  a  large  fortune,  and 
owned  one  of  the  handsomest  houses  in  Leichardt's 
Town.  Sir  John  Randal  had  made  him  a  member 
of  the  Upper  House,  but  he  took  no  part  in  politi- 
cal affairs.  His  whole  business  appeared  to  be  the 
making  of  money,  and  he  succeeded  in  it  admir- 
ably. He  had  not  married,  and  till  the  last  year  of 
Lady  Randal's  reign  had  hardly  been  known  so- 
cially. Certainly  he  had  never  gone  to  Govern- 
ment House,  or  to  any  of  the  dances,  public  or  pri- 
vate. Then  Lady  Randal  had  discovered  in  him 
the  anonymous  benefactor  of  a  charity  in  which 


24  NULMA. 

she  was  interested,  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  man, 
and  had  insisted  upon  his  calling  upon  her.  She 
was  a  very  clever,  sympathetic  woman,  had  known 
how  to  get  hold  of  him,  and  had  thought  it  worth 
her  while  to  do  so.  Gradually  he  became  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  Government  House,  and  Lady  Ran- 
dal had  done  her  best  to  marry  him  to  her  own 
greatest  friend  in  Leichardt's  Land — a  certain  Miss 
Degraves.  Miss  Degraves  would,  report  said,  have 
been  quite  willing  to  become  Mrs.  Van  Vechten, 
for,  though  the  merchant  had,  as  he  frankly  owned, 
worked  his  own  way  upwards,  he  was  incontestably 
a  gentleman,  and  his  very  reserve  gave  him  dig- 
nity, while  it  carried  an  impression  of  power.  As 
soon  as  he  became  aware  of  Lady  Randal's  design, 
he  went  to  her  with  characteristic  independence, 
thanking  her  for  her  good  intentions,  and  assuring 
her  that  he  had  no  intention  of  marrying  anyone, 
except  a  little  girl,  now  just  seventeen,  who  hadn't 
the  faintest  notion  of  his  wishes,  whose  great  trou- 
ble was  that  she  couldn't  learn  to  spell,  and  who 
was  the  best  lady-rider  Leichardt's  Land  had  ever 
produced. 

Lady  Randal  had  asked  who  the  girl  was,  and 
he  had  replied  with  perfect  frankness  that  it  was 
Nulma  Goodeve.  Till  then  Lady  Randal  had  never 
heard  of  Nulma  Goodeve,  or  little  Lulu,  as  her 
playmates  the  Perrymans  called  her;  nor  had  any- 
one else  in  Leichardt's  Town,  except  these  same 
Perrymans,   who  lived  in   the  next  house  to  the 


THE   STATE    ENTRY. 


25 


Goodeves,  and  one  or  two  others,  among  them  Mr. 
Latham — not  then  the  Premier.  Air.  Latham  had 
been  an  employer  of  James  Goodeve,  in  the  days 
when  Nulma's  father  had  been  a  carrier  out  west, 
between  the  further  stations  and  Port  Victoria,  be- 
fore he  had  struck  gold  and  become  the  chief  share- 
holder in  the  "  Goodeve's  Consolation  "  reef. 

Lady  Randal,  who  liked  pulling  the  social  wires, 
had  tried  to  get  at  Nulma  through  her  father,  and 
had  made  advances  to  the  burly  member  of  As- 
sembly, just  then  coming  into  prominence  as  a 
politician,  too  wealthy  to  care  for  place,  and  too 
sturdily  independent  to  snatch  at  power.  But  James 
Goodeve  had  rebuffed  the  advance,  and  had  told 
Lady  Randal,  almost  rudely,  that  his  daughter 
wasn't  coming  out  in  society  for  a  year  yet,  which 
would  be  after  the  Randals'  term  of  office  had  ex- 
pired, and  that  he  didn't  want  her  taken  notice  of 
by  fine  ladies  till  she  was  old  enough  to  keep  her 
head  and  not  be  spoiled  by  it.  But  he  was  flat- 
tered, all  the  same;  he  set  more  store  than  ever 
upon  Nulma  in  consequence,  being  now  quite  sure 
that  the  girl  must  be  no  common  girl;  and  though 
he  did  not  go  to  Government  House,  he  always  de- 
clared himself  afterwards  one  of  Lady  Randal's 
most  devoted  admirers. 

Lady  Arthur  had  heard  the  little  talk  about 
Nulma,  which  had  taken  place  not  far  from  where 
she  was  standing  with  the  Acting  Governor  ab- 
sently admiring  the  low  stretches  of  banana  and 


26  NULMA. 

pineapple  plantations  on  each  side  of  the  river;  the 
heights  covered  with  gum-tree  forests;  and,  as  the 
launch  got  higher,  the  pretty  bungalow  residences, 
with  their  green  paddocks  and  gardens  and  beauti- 
ful clumps  of  bamboos. 

The  conversation,  somehow,  struck  an  unpleas- 
ing  chord;  for  the  description  of  Nulma  seemed 
to  chime  with  her  vaguely-expressed  dread  of  the 
evening  before,  concerning  a  possible  unsophisti- 
cated rival  in  the  Chief  Justice's  heart.  But  she 
scented  a  romance,  being  a  woman  of  that  emo- 
tional temperament  to  whom  life  must  always  pre- 
sent itself  in  the  guise  of  romance  or  drama  rather 
than  of  prosaic  fact.  In  truth,  that  emotional  tend- 
ency had  been  her  undoing.  Now,  however,  it 
made  her  jump  at  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Van 
Vechten  was  in  love  with  this  unknown  Nulma. 

Van  Vechten  attracted  her.  Though  totally  un- 
like, there  was  yet  a  certain  type  resemblance  be- 
tween him  and  the  Chief  Justice.  Both  had  the 
same  air  of  suppressed  force,  and  both  shared  a 
certain  outward  hardness;  but  the  flexible  curves 
of  Kenward's  lips  gave  token  of  a  keener  suscepti- 
bility to  subtler  influences  than  was  the  case  with 
Van  Vechten.  Lady  Arthur  asked  presently  who 
the  merchant  was,  and  receiving  from  the  Act- 
ing Governor  an  abridged  biography  of  him  as 
far  as  the  Leichardtstonians  knew  it,  she  resolved 
to  cultivate  Van  Vechten,  and  requested  that  he 
might  be  presented  to- her. 


THE    STATE    ENTRY. 


27 


"Whose  is  that  big  house?"  she  asked  him, 
pointing  to  an  imposing  two-storied  building  com- 
mandingly  situated  upon  a  rise  overlooking  -  the 
bend  of  the  river  as  it  curved  round  a  long  low 
point  in  a  snake-like  loop.  This  house  was  particu- 
larly noticeable  because  of  an  enormous  and  soli- 
tary clump  of  bamboos  growing  on  the  extreme 
point  of  the  hill,  where  it  looked  like  a  plume  of 
gigantic  green  feathers. 

"  That  is  my  house,"  answered  Van  Vechten 
simply. 

Lady  Arthur  now  began  to  wonder  if  he  were 
married;  she  had  not  received  that  information 
from  the  Acting  Governor.  "  I  hope  that  you  will 
ask  me  there  sometimes,"  she  said.  '  You  must 
have  a  magnificent  view  of  the  river." 

"  You  do  me  honour,"  he  replied  with  a  formal 
bow.  '  We  can  look  down  upon  Government 
House  from  my  veranda,"  he  went  on.  "  And 
there,  Lady  Arthur,  I  think  you  catch  your  first 
glimpse  of  your  future  home."  He  pointed  to  a 
white  patch  surrounded  with  greenery,  lying  paral- 
lel with  the  Botanical  Gardens  at  the  end  of  a  sec- 
ond point  where  the  river  made  another  loop;  the 
white  patch  resolved  itself  into  a  balconied  stone 
building  with  great  pillars  and  four  deep  porches. 

"  It  looks  very  cool,"  said  Lady  Arthur.  "  And 
it  seems  new,"  she  added. 

"  Of  course  it  is  new,"  replied  Van  Vechten; 
"  it  was  built  for  the  Randals." 
3 


28  NULMA. 

The  Governor  came  up  and  offered  his  arm 
to  his  niece-in-law,  so  that  she  might  view  her  new 
residence  to  better  advantage  from  the  crimson 
carpeted  patch  of  the  deck  on  which  the  state  chairs 
had  been  placed.  They  were  getting  close  to  the 
town;  the  vessels  in  the  river  dipped  flags;  the 
guns  of  the  battery  fired  a  salute;  the  crowd  lining 
the  temporary  quay  on  which  the  Governor  was  to 
be  received  was  plainly  visible. 

And  now  began  what  James  Goodeve  had 
termed  the  "  fuss  and  botheration."  The  naval  and 
military  force  of  the  baby  colony,  represented  by 
the  officers  of  the  survey  schooner  and  man-of- 
war  which  had  brought  up  the  party,  and  the  local 
militia  and  police  brigade,  drew  up  in  line.  The 
Ministers  and  officials  ranged  themselves;  the 
Mayor  delivered  an  address.  Lord  Arthur  and  the 
aide-de-camp,  in  their  red  uniforms,  stood  like  stat- 
ues, a  little  back  on  each  side  of  their  chief,  while 
the  presentations  were  going  on.  Lord  Arthur 
looked  distinguished,  if  not  particularly  brilliant; 
his  face  wore  a  bored  expression,  and  his  hand 
fidgeted  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  The  aide-de- 
camp, a  good-looking  young  soldier  with  a  dark 
moustache,  who  was  very  sorry  for  himself,  and 
felt  the  heat  horribly,  would  have  given  worlds 
to  get  out  of  his  uniform  into  white  ducks, 
and  to  order  an  iced  whisky-and-seltzer.  The 
Governor  looked  bored,  too,  and  hot,  but  was 
mechanically    gracious,    though,    under    cover    of 


THE   STATE    ENTRY. 


29 


his  galvanized  smile,  he  whispered  to  Lord  Ar- 
thur : 

"  Can't  you  give  them  a  hint  to  cut  it  short?  I 
shall  have  a  sunstroke  if  there's  much  more  of  this." 

The  crowd  cheered  ;  the  Leichardtstonians 
thought  it  all  very  fine,  and  would  have  liked  to 
prolong  the  function.  In  the  raised  seats  round  the 
platform  Lady  Arthur  noticed  some  well-dressed 
women  and  some  extremely  pretty  girls,  and  began 
to  readjust  her  preconceived  notions  about  colonial 
society. 

"  Lady  Randal  has  got  them  into  good  train- 
ing," she  thought,  not  realizing  that  many  of  these 
ladies  were  better  born,  and  had  come  out  of  a 
severer  nursery  than  had  she  herself.  She  had  the 
consciousness  of  being  an  object  of  the  most  rigid 
scrutiny,  and  wondered  what  these  matrons  and 
maids  were  thinking  about  her.  The  mimic  sover- 
eignty was  amusing  and  gratifying  to  a  woman 
who,  though  she  was  a  Marquis's  daughter-in-law, 
had  always  been  poor,  and  never  as  certain  of  her 
position  as  she  could  have  wished.  She  was  glad 
that  Kenward  should  see  her  thus,  the  "  cynosure  of 
all  eyes,"  as  the  society  correspondent  of  the  Leich- 
ardt's  Land  Herald  put  it  the  next  morning.  She 
bent  her  head  sideways  over  the  bouquet  which 
the  Mayor's  daughter  had  presented  to  her,  and 
while  the  thought  crossed  her  mind  that  these 
stephanotis  flowers  and  other  tropical  blossoms  of 
which  it  was  composed  would  fetch  an  almost  fabu- 


3o 


NULMA. 


lous  price  at  this  moment  in  Covent  Garden,  she 
tried  to  crane  her  head  round  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  Chief  Justice,  who  would  shortly  have  his  own 
little  performance  of  installation  to  go  through. 
He  was  standing,  alert,  interested,  scanning  the 
rows  of  spectators — perhaps,  she  thought  bitterly, 
in  vague  search  of  that  child  of  Nature — and  not 
thinking  in  the  least  of  her. 

Presently  the  guns  fired  another  salute.  The 
Governor  stepped  into  the  state  barouche  drawn  by 
four  grays,  and  the  procession  started:  Lady  Ar- 
thur smiling  from  under  the  shadow  of  her  mauve 
parasol,  the  Governor  making  at  intervals  stiff  mili- 
tary salutes,  the  "  staff  "  in  their  red  uniforms  on 
the  back-seat.  It  was  pitilessly  hot,  now  that  the 
breeze  had  died  away,  and  the  procession  seemed 
to  be  a  long  time  in  parading  the  principal  streets. 
After  all,  though,  there  was  not  a  great  deal  of 
street,  and  the  town  was  of  a  queer,  incongruous 
sort,  with  patches  of  cida  retusa  where  there  should 
have  been  shops  or  houses — a  wooden  shanty  stand- 
ing beside  a  big  public  building,  and  a  little  weather- 
board and  iron  store  elbowing  the  pillars  of  a  bank. 
At  last  they  had  passed  the  white  stone,  zinc-roofed 
pile  which  somebody  told  Lady  Arthur  was  the 
Parliamentary  Buildings,  had  gone  through  the 
iron  gates  of  the  Government  House  domain,  and 
were  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  new-looking  portico 
and  the  brass-studded  door  through  which  she  en- 
tered into  her  kingdom. 


CHAPTER   III. 


IN    THE    PIAZZA. 


Lady  Arthur  spent  most  of  the  afternoon  in 
helping  her  maid  to  unpack,  in  arranging  photo- 
graphs and  knick-knacks  about  her  own  rooms, 
and  in  giving  orders.  Several  of  the  servants  had 
been  with  the  Randals;  but  Lady  Arthur  deter- 
mined that  she  would  not  be  dogged  by  Lady 
Randal's  ghost  more  than  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  settled  within  herself  that  she  would  have  them 
dismissed  as  soon  as  she  creditably  and  comfortably 
could.  In  the  meantime,  however,  she  was  very 
sweet  and  gracious  to  them,  thus  finding  out  indi- 
rectly something  of  what  was  expected  of  her,  and 
she  had  pleasant  words  for  the  gardeners  employed 
in  setting  ferns  and  palms.  Down  below,  the  Gov- 
ernor, his  staff  and  responsible  advisers,  were  oc- 
cupied with  the  business  of  the  installation  and  of 
a  cold  collation,  from  which  a  not  too  sumptuous 
portion  was  served  to  Lady  Arthur  in  the  deep 
stone  piazza  outside  the  staircase  gallery,  which 
she  resolved  to  appropriate  as  a  summer  sitting- 

31 


32 


NULMA. 


room.  She  was  lying  in  a  cane  lounge  dressed  in  a 
cool  tea-gown,  a  litter  of  unpacking  round  her, 
when  Lord  Arthur  appeared  hot  and  tired,  and 
Still  in  uniform. 

'  Where  have  my  things  been  put,  Margot? 
I  want  to  get  out  of  this  abominable  toggery.  There 
should  be  a  dispensation  for  white  ducks  on  official 
occasions  in  all  latitudes  within  twenty-five  degrees. 
Have  you  settled  on  our  quarters?" 

"  I've  left  the  Governor  what  look  like  the  state 
apartments,  and  I've  established  myself  in  these. 
Your  room  is  beyond  there."  She  pointed  through 
a  cool,  shady  chamber,  in  which  her  maid  was 
occupied  over  the  trunks,  to  another  chamber 
opening  off  the  side-balcony.  "  I  suppose  it's  all 
right." 

"  Oh — well!  Yes,  I  suppose  it's  all  right.  Do 
send  Maling  to  forage  for  some  tea.  It's  a  regular 
case  of  foraging,  and  the  chief  is  pretty  furious 
about  the  household  arrangements.  I've  sent  a  wire 
to  Melbourne  for  that  chef;  the  Governor  don't 
approve  of  the  one  provided  by  his  responsible  ad- 
visers. Judging  by  the  way  the  responsible  advisers 
gobbled  down  the  most  villainous  mayonnaise  you 
ever  tasted,  I  should  say  they  didn't  know  a  good 
dinner  when  they  got  it." 

'  Yes,  the  mayonnaise  was  villainous !  "  assented 
Lady  Arthur. 

Her  husband  left  her;  and  after  ordering  the 
tea,  Margot  remained  stretched  upon  her  lounge, 


IN    THE    PIAZZA.  33 

lost,  it  seemed,  in  painful  thought,  till  he  returned, 
looking  all  the  fresher  for  a  sluicing  with  cold 
water,  and  a  change  from  his  stiff  trappings  into  a 
light  summer  suit.  Maling  had  brought  the  tea, 
and  his  wife  poured  him  out  a  cup. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Kenward?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  he  has  gone  to  forage  on  his  own  ac- 
count. The  Governor  asked  him  to  stay  here,  but 
he  seemed  to  think  he  had  better  settle  himself  in 
his  diggings." 

Lord   Arthur   sipped   his   tea   reflectively. 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  like  it,  Margot?" 

"  How  do  I  know  yet?     It  is  terribly  hot." 

"  To-day ;  but  that  won't  last.  Next  month  win- 
ter will  be  coming  on.  Winter  in  April!  Queer, 
isn't  it?  Oh,  this  isn't  hot!  If  you  had  been  with 
me  in  India,  you  wouldn't  have  thought  anything 
of  it." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  was  not  with  you  in 
India,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  vehemence  born  of 
her  late  musings.  "  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  I  had 
gone  with  you  to  India." 

"Why,  Margot?  Oh— well,  so  am  I!  But  it 
would  have  pretty  well  done  for  you  in  the  state  of 
health  you  were  in  then.  And,  besides,  there  was 
the  baby."  He  sighed.  "  Not  that  that  would  have 
made  any  difference  in  the  long-run." 

'  Who  knows?  In  India  it  might  not  have 
died." 

"  Poor  little  shaver!    Well,  there's  no  use  think- 


34  NULMA. 

ing  of  that  now.  Perhaps — perhaps  there  may  be 
another  baby  some  day,  Margot." 

He  hesitated  with  an  almost  boyish  embarrass- 
ment, and  gave  a  little  tender  laugh  as  he  put  out 
his  hand  and  played  with  the  lace  of  her  tea-gown. 
Her  lips  tightened,  and  the  lines  in  her  face  seemed 
to  deepen,  so  that  at  the  moment  she  looked  ever 
so  much  older  than  her  husband.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  there  were  three  years  between  them,  he  being 
twenty-nine  and  she  thirty-two.  She  shook  her 
head  with  intense  decision.  There  was  a  silence. 
He  stopped  stroking  her  tea-gown,  and  leaned  back 
with  a  hurt  look  on  his  fair,  stolid  face.  Presently 
he  said,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who  has  mastered  a 
momentary  emotion : 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy,  Margot,  when  we  have 
settled  down  again  into  respectable  married  life,  as 
it  used  to  be." 

'  I  think  we  have  settled  down  quite  respectably 
enough,"  she  answered.  "  I  don't  know  what  you 
want  more." 

"  I  want  a  great  deal  more,"  he  rejoined;  and 
there  was  another  silence;  which  she  occupied  in 
peeling  a  banana. 

She  broke  it,  saying: 

"  I  don't  think  these  bananas  are  as  good  as 
what  we  had  on  board." 

He  took  no  notice  of  the  remark. 

"  Margot,"  he  exclaimed,  with  slow  impetuosity, 
"what  is  it?" 


IN    THE    TIAZZA.  35 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"  I  sometimes  wonder,"  he  answered,  "  whether 
you  care  for  me  as  much  as  you  did  three  years 
ago— before  I  went  to  India." 

"  Why  should  I  not  care  for  you  as  much  as  I 
did  then?  Don't  be  absurd,  Arthur,  and  fancy 
things  which  are  not  true." 

"Aren't  they  true?  Oh,  I  hope  they  are  not! 
But  you  have  so  changed.  I  suppose,"  he  added, 
"  it  is  from  your  having  been  ill." 

"  Yes,  if  I  am  changed.  But  I  don't  see  where 
the  change  comes  in." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  have  changed,  and  you  must 
know  it,  unless  it's  all  your  illness.  Sir  Alured 
told  me  that  it  takes  years  sometimes  to  get  over  a 
bad  illness  like  that." 

"Yes;  years,  and  years,  and  years.  Don't  talk 
of  it.    Will  you  have  some  more  tea?  " 

"  Thank  you !  "  He  swallowed  what  was  left  in 
the  cup  and  handed  it  to  her.  "  By  Jove!  that's 
the  best  thing  I've  had  in  Government  House  yet. 
It's  Ceylon  tea,  isn't  it?" 

"  It  isn't  a  Government  House  production;  it 
is  some  that  " — she  made  the  slightest  pause — "  that 
Mr.  Kenward  got  for  me  in  Galle.  Maling  had 
packed  it  away  by  mistake." 

'  Well,  it's  very  good."  He  drank  it  slowly. 
;'  Margot,"  he  resumed,  "  you  are  sure  that  you 
have  not  changed  to  me?  " 

"  Quite  sure.     Please  don't  talk  like  that." 


36  NULMA. 

'  I  can't  help  it;  it's  always  in  my  mind — has 
been  ever  since  I  came  home — and  we  have  seemed 
so — so  separate.  And,  then,  two  years  is  a  big 
slice  out  of  five  of  married  life — big  enough  for  a 
woman  to  find  out  in  it  that  she  likes  somebody 
else  better  than  her  husband.". 

Margot  Keefe  gave  a  quick,  frightened  glance 
towards  her  husband,  who  was  not  then  looking 
at  her,  however,  but  was  staring  out  through  the 
half-drawn  Venetians  of  the  balcony. 

"  Arthur,  what  makes  you  say  that?"  she  asked 
in  desperate  bravery.  "  Have  you  been  fancying 
such  a  thing  about  me?  " 

'  No — ves;  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  Mar- 
got." 

"Well?"  she  said  sharply. 

"  It's  this:  when  I  first  came  home,  and  you 
seemed  so  cold — not  that  exactly,  but  you  know 
what  I  mean — and  when  I  saw  how  thick  you  and 
Kenward  were " 

"Well?" 

"  Don't  be  angry,  dear.  You  know  that  I  never 
could  suspect  you  of  anything  not  absolutely  on 
the  square,  and  now  I  see  that  I  was  a  jealous  fool. 
But  I  did  wonder  at  first  whether  he  hadn't  got  to 
care  for  you,  and  you  for  him." 

'Well?"  she  repeated.  She  seemed  unable  to 
utter  any  other  word. 

"  Oh,  well,  didn't  I  tell  you  that  I  saw  I  was  a 
jealous  fool?  and  of  course   I   ought  to  have  had 


IN    THE   PIAZZA. 


37 


more  consideration  for  you.  But  it's  hard  for  a 
blundering-  fellow  like  me,  who  never  had  sisters 
or  much  to  do  with  womenkind,  to  understand 
women.  What  made  me  certain  that  I  was  just 
a  jealous  fool  was  his  accepting  this  appointment 
here,  and  your  wanting  him  to  come  out  with  us." 

"Ah!  'Goon,  Arthur." 

"  I  knew  that,  if  there  had  ever  been  anything 
more  than  ordinary  friendship  between  you,  you 
would  never  have  put  yourselves  into  the  position. 
You  are  too  good  a  woman,  Margot,  and  he  is  too 
much  of  a  gentleman  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Look 
out,  dear — what  is  it?" 

For  she  had  started  suddenly  from  the  lounge, 
and  was  bending  over  it,  her  back  to  him. 

"  I  thought  I  saw — was  it  a  tarantula  or  a  centi- 
pede or  something?  They  say  there  are  lots  of  such 
creatures  out  here,"  she  cried  hysterically.  "  Oh, 
it's  a  bit  of  banana  peel.  I'm  dreadfully  stu- 
pid, Arthur.  I  hate  hot  climates  and  insects  and 
things." 

'  You're  nervous,  dear,  and  I've  been  upsetting 
you.  Don't  you  bother,  Margot,  about  anything 
I've  said.  I  mean  to  be  tremendously  patient  and 
considerate  with  you;  we  are  going  to  be  ever  so 
happy  here,  and  you'll  get  as  strong  as  you  ever 
were."  He  waited,  and  then  added  in  a  different 
tone,  "  I  say,  I  think  it  would  be  nice  if  I  were 
to  go  and  get  the  chief  to  come  and  have  tea  up 
here  with  you;  he'd   like  it;  he's  awfully  devoted 


38  NULMA. 

to  you;  it's  such  a  good  thing  he  has  taken  to  you 
so  immensely." 

'  Yes,  go,  Arthur."  She  called  him  back  as  he 
was  leaving.  'You  are  a  good  fellow;  you  are  a 
great  deal  too  good  for  me.  Don't  think  I  am  not 
grateful,  but  don't— don't  talk  any  more  like  that, 
and  don't  set  your  heart  on  what  isn't  in  the  nature 
of  things,  and  can't  be.  I  shall  never  be  any  dif- 
ferent—not for  a  long,  long  time,  anyhow.  You 
must  take  me  as  I  am,  and  not  expect  too  much 
from  me,  for  it's  of  no  use.  Promise  me." 
"  Promise — what?" 

'  That  you'll  be  good  friends  with  me,  and  not 
say  anything  like  that." 

'  I  can  certainly  promise  to  be  good  friends. 
I  can't  answer  for  other  things,  but  Til  do  my  best. 
You  see,  Margot " — he  came  close  to  her,  and, 
stooping,  kissed  her  forehead — "  a  fellow  would 
like  to  be  something  more  than  just  good  friends 
with  the  one  woman  in  the  world  that  he  loves." 

"  Oh,  that  is  where  it  is."  She  gave  a  slight 
shudder.  "  It  is  so  dreadful  to  be  loved  in  that  tragic 
way;  one  didn't  expect  it  from  you." 

'  No,  I  suppose  you  thought  I  was  too  matter- 
of-fact  a  sort  of  chap;  and  so  I  am  about  every- 
thing but  you,  Margot.  I  can't  help  it.  I'm  pretty 
cool  about  most  things,  and  not  given  to  sentiment 
and  tall  talk,  but  I  got  to  know  one  thing  about 
myself  when  I  came  back  this  time." 

"What  was  that?"  she  asked  faintly. 


IN   THE   PIAZZA. 


39 


"  It's  all  over — didn't  last,  as  I  said — but  I  can 
assure  you  that  for  a  day  or  two  there  was  a  raging 
devil  in  me,  which  under  certain  circumstances 
would  have  made  me  commit  murder,  and  glory 
in   it." 

She  turned  very  pale. 

"  I — I  never  guessed  that." 

;'  No,  I  didn't  mean  that  you  should.  I'm  a 
pretty  good  hand  at  keeping  things  to  myself;  and 
if  I  choose  I  can  put  the  stopper  in  and  show  noth- 
ing. I  don't  know  why  I  am  telling  you  now;  but 
it's  a  fact,  Margot:  there's  more  in  me  than  you 
bargained  for,  and  if  you  ever  deceived  me — which 
God  forbid! — you'd  find  it  out." 

She  looked  after  him,  as  he  moved  away,  in 
silent  and  frightened  wonder.  Turning  at  the  door, 
he  caught  the  look,  and  hastened  to  reassure  her: 

"  I  believe  I've  scared  you.  What  a  brute  I 
am!  Never  mind,  Margot  dear.  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid 
of  your  doing  anything  to  rouse  the  Tartar.  Scratch 
a  Russian,  you  know.  I've  got  a  dash  of  my  moth- 
er's blood,  though  I  seem  such  a  John  Bull." 

He  gave  his  blonde  moustache  a  twirl,  and 
laughed  good-humouredly  as  he  disappeared.  She 
heard  him  going  heavily  down  the  uncarpeted  stairs. 
The  suggestion  of  that  Kalmuck  strain  in  her  hus- 
band roused  a  new  and  not  altogether  pleasant 
train  of  thought.  It  was  so  very  unusual  in  him 
to  allude  to  it,  and  there  had  never  been  anything 
to  remind  her  that  he  was  not  wholly  English.     It 


40  NULMA 

was  now  almost  forgotten  that  the  second  wife  of 
the  Marquis  of  Kelvin  had  been  a  Russian,  and  was, 
in  truth,  a  very  unimportant  fact,  seeing  that  she 
had  only  lived  long  enough  to  give  birth  to  this, 
her  first,  and  Lord  Kelvin's  fourth,  son.  But  it 
struck  Margot — and,  indeed,  the  same  thing  had 
occurred  to  her  once  or  twice  lately — that  there 
were  passionate,  vengeful  capabilities  latent  in  the 
man  she  had  married,  for  which,  as  he  had  just 
said,  she  had  not  bargained.  A  sort  of  soul-panic 
took  possession  of  the  poor  woman.  This  sudden 
plunge  into  a  new  life  amid  surroundings  totally 
unfamiliar  to  her  made  her  lose  for  the  moment 
her  mental  foothold.  She  was  frightened  at  what 
she  had  done,  at  what  she  might  be  going  to  do. 
Her  husband's  revelation  of  his  brooding  suspi- 
cions, the  appeal  which  he  had  made,  his  assertion 
of  belief  in  her  honour  and  in  that  of  Kenward, 
had  startled  and  appalled  her.  For  one  instant  she 
had  been  on  the  point  of  flinging  herself  at  his  feet 
and  confessing  that  his  suspicions  were  justified. 
It  seemed  to  her  impossible  that  she  could  go  on 
living  so  base  a  lie.  Why  had  she  not  yielded  to 
the  promptings  of  her  better  self  and  made  this  new 
departure  a  means  of  entire  rupture  with  the  fever- 
ish joy  of  those  two  years  of  freedom?  How  could 
she  have  been  so  mad  and  so  wicked  as  to  bring 
her  past  with  her  when  she  had  a  chance  of  flinging 
it  behind  for  ever?  Why  had  she  not  urged  Ken- 
ward  to  try  for  another  appointment,  to  go  to  some 


IN   THE    PIAZZA. 


41 


other  place  where  he  might  recover  his  health — 
and  forget  her?  Ah!  that  was  the  sting.  But  any- 
thing rather  than  to  have  brought  him  here,  a  step 
of  which  there  could  be  but  two  interpretations — 
that  of  entire  innocence  or  of  the  worst  dishonour. 
Strangely  enough,  she  had  not,  till  her  husband 
so  spoke  to-day,  regarded  the  matter  in  this  tragic 
light— a  light  which  she  now  knew  to  be  the  just 
one.  His  words  had  brought  her  self-knowledge, 
and  she  was  convicted  by  her  own  conscience  of 
playing  a  despicable  part.  It  was  the  meanness  of 
it  that  she  hated. 

And  then  the  danger.  She  seemed  to  see  be- 
fore her  a  forewarning  vision  of  consequences  and 
of  resistless  working  of  forces  which  till  now  had 
only  existed  for  her  between  the  leaves  of  a  novel 
or  on  the  stage  of  a  theatre.  She  had  married  as 
women  who  are  poor,  and  eager  to  raise  themselves 
socially,  do  marry  when  opportunity  occurs.  She 
had  lived  a  hand-to-mouth,  a  somewhat  Bohemian 
sort  of  girlhood,  and  it  had  been  at  first  excite- 
ment enough  to  find  herself  lifted  into  a  sphere 
of  which  she  had  only  read  in  books.  She  had  been 
tactful  and  had  held  her  own,  and  even  in  her  tiny 
London  house  had  managed  to  make  herself  an  in- 
fluence in  a  small  way.  There  had  been  excite- 
ment in  that  too.  Then  had  come  the  baby's  birth, 
the  illness  which  Lord  Arthur  charitably  made  the 
excuse  for  everything  in  her  which  troubled  and  per- 
plexed him ;  afterward,  before  she  had  recovered,  his 


42  NULMA. 

departure  with  his  regiment  to  India;  and  a  little 
later  had  begun  the  drama  of  Marguerite  Keefe's  life. 
She  had  taken  her  marriage  and  her  husband 
as  part  of  the  prose  of  existence — solid  material 
facts,  which  there  was  no  necessity  to  analyze. 
She  had  looked  upon  Lord  Arthur  as  a  well-bred, 
rather  stupid  liriton,  outside  the  region  of  romance, 
who  would  always  be  satisfied  with  that  limited 
portion  of  her  real  self  presented  to  him,  and  whose 
unemotional  temperament  would  not  rebel  against 
any  conditions  she  chose  to  impose.  She  vaguely 
concluded  that  after  a  few  years  of  marriage  they 
would  get  like  other  couples  she  knew  of,  and  both 
go  pretty  much  their  own  way — if,  indeed,  she 
thought  at  all  about  the  matter;  she  had  never  real- 
ized the  true  nature  of  his  feeling  for  her,  and  had 
not  speculated  closely  upon  how  he  would  or  would 
not  act  under  certain  circumstances  at  which  he 
had  just  hinted.  During  the  two  years  of  his  ab- 
sence her  growing  intimacy  with  Outram  Kenward 
had  engrossed  her  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
considerations.  She  had  looked  neither  behind  nor 
before,  and  it  was  not  till  Lord  Arthur's  rather 
sudden  return  that  she  had  found  herself  face  to 
face  with  the  problem  which  has  tormented  many 
another  woman  like  herself — a  woman  not  vicious, 
not  even  heartless,  and  not  without  a  sense  of  the 
obligations  of  honour,  but  whose  misfortune  it  has 
been  in  the  first  instance  to  marry  a  man  she  did 
not  love,  and  the  second  to  meet  too  late,  and  when 


IN    THE    PIAZZA.  43 

away  from  her  husband's  protecting  influence,  the 
one  man  who  must  be  for  ever  her  heart's  master. 
So  things  had  been  when,  almost  immediately 
upon  the  crisis,  this  Leichardt's  Land  plan  had  been 
mooted  and  determined  upon.     The  poor  trapped 
creature — trapped  in  the  net  of  her  passionate  im- 
pulses and  surprised  by  circumstance;  not  actually 
bad,  but  very  far  from  being  good,  and  who,  though 
incapable  of  any  heroic   resolve,  yet   shrank  from 
deliberate  baseness,  torn  by  emotion  and  for  the 
first  time  by  piercing  doubt  of  the  man  she  loved — 
had  frantically  waited  for  Kenward  to  take  the  in- 
itiative.   But  he  had  not  taken  it.    She  would  have 
run  away  with  him  had  he  asked  her,  sacrificing 
all  the  prospects  before  so  dear  to  her;  but  he  had 
not   asked   her,   and   she   had   understood   without 
words  that  she  was  not  worth  to  him  the  sacrifice 
of  his  own  career.     She  heard  rumours  of  an  en- 
gagement with  a  wealthy  cousin,  and  jealousy  made 
her  desperate.     There  had  been  an  appeal  to  the 
man's  chivalry  and  to  a  tenderness  by  no  means 
extinguished.     It  had  been  partly  through  her  in- 
strumentality that  the  appointment  of  Chief  Justice 
had  been  offered  to  him.     He  had  yielded  to  her 
entreaties    to    accompany    them;    and    the    impos- 
sible resolve  had  been  made  to  keep  within  barriers 
and  to  enjoy  each  other's  society  in  a  purely  pla- 
tonic  fashion.     All  through  the  voyage  they  had 
been  very  good  friends — too  good  friends,  as  Mar- 
got  in  her  bitterness  expressed  it. 
4 


44  KULMA. 

She  had  never  till  now  faced  the  situation.  The 
transition  stage  had  been  all  rush  and  movement, 
with  the  interest  of  new  scenes  and  of  preparations 
for  a  different  life  to  distract  both.  But  the  long 
days  of  lazy  gliding  through  Southern  seas  had 
brought  reaction.  To  Kemvard,  though  he  would 
not  admit  it,  as  well  as  to  Margot,  thought  meant 
corroding  dissatisfaction.  It  sometimes  appeared 
to  him,  as  well  as  to  her,  that  they  were  like  crea- 
tures who  had  rushed  headlong  under  a  yoke,  and 
now  must  go  whither  Fate,  the  driver,  willed.  To 
Margot,  in  this  hour  of  dread  and  humiliation, 
stolid,  prosaic  Lord  Arthur  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  been  turned  into  an  almost  grotesque  embodi- 
ment of  Destiny.  And  then  she  laughed  grimly 
aloud  at  the  notion  of  Lord  Arthur  as  an  Othello. 

'What  amuses  you  so  much,  my  dear?"  said 
the  Governor's  neutral,  tired  voice  near  her. 

'  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  with  a  violent 
start,  speaking  at  haphazard.  "  I  think  it  was  the 
Mayor's  way  of  reading  the  address." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  Governor,  "  it's  your  first  ex- 
perience of  the  kind  of  thing.  I  dare  say  that  sol- 
emn procession  through  the  town  seemed  very 
funny  to  you.  It  did  to  me.  But  I  " — he  sighed — 
'  I  have  suffered  in  the  same  way  several  times  be- 
fore, and  the  humour  of  it  palls  a  little." 


CHAPTER   IV. 
nljlma's  compact. 

Nulma  was  walking  to  and  fro  upon  the  veran- 
da at  the  Bunyas,  when  Mr.  Van  Vechten,  in  the 
free-and-easy  manner  of  an  Australian  visitor  cer- 
tain of  his  welcome,  ushered  himself  in  through 
the  drawing-room  and  stood  looking  at  her  from 
the  sill  of  the  open  French  window. 

She  was  pacing  up  and  down  with  the  free, 
stately  tread  of  a  stag  or  some  other  graceful  wild 
animal.  There  was,  in  truth,  a  strong  suggestion 
of  the  stag  in  her  whole  appearance:  in  the  poise 
of  her  small  head  with  its  untidy  hair,  the  colour 
of  a  ripe  bunya  nut;  in  the  slenderness  of  her  im- 
mature form,  her  thin  neck  and  the  slim  arms 
from  which  her  loose  muslin  sleeves  fell  away; 
while  her  big  brown  eyes,  too,  had  something  of 
the  shy  fearlessness  and  liquid  softness  of  a  young 
deer's  glance.  She  was  a  very  attractive  child,  who 
would  shortly  be  a  beautiful  woman,  and  James 
Goodeve  was  perfectly  justified  in  his  fatherly  ad- 
miration. 

One  hand   clasped  her  belt  behind   her  back; 

45 


46  NULMA. 

the  other  held  in  front  a  book  which  looked  like 
a  tattered  primer.  She  was  murmuring  softly  to 
herself  as  she  walked,  gazing  conscientiously  be- 
yond the  page. 

'  P-a-r-a-1 — oh,  are  there  two  l's?  P-a-r-a-1-" — 
a  hurried,  guilty  glance  at  the  page — "  1-a-x — Paral- 
lax. My  goodness  gracious!  what  is  a  parallax?" 
Another  glance.  '  Yes;  oh,  well,  I  needn't  bother 
to  remember  that.  Pa-r-a-1 — 1-1? — P-a-r-a-l-l-e-1 — 
Parallel—  Oh,  Mr.  Van  Vechten,  how  you  made 

me  jump!  " 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Nulma?  " 
'  Pm  learning  my  spelling  lesson.  I  do  a  page 
every  day.  Mrs.  Perryman  says  it  is  disgraceful 
that  a  girl  who's  coming  out  in  May,  and  has  done 
with  schooling,  shouldn't  know  how  to  spell  prop- 
erly." 

"Oh,  does  she  indeed?" 

"  I  wrote  her  a  note  yesterday  to  ask  about 
Luce,  and  it  had  two  frightful  mistakes.  It's  no 
use;  I  shall  never  learn  to  spell!  Uncle  Van,  did 
you  hear  about  poor  Luce?" 

"  I  heard  she  had  had  an  accident." 

"  Nobody  knows  when  she  will  stand  up  again," 
said  Nulma,  with  tragic  emphasis.  "  She  has 
crinkled  her  back." 

"Crinkled  her  back!" 

'  Twisted  her  spine-joints,  somehow.  I  shall 
never  forgive  Malcolm  Derrett — never,  as  long  as 
I  live." 


NULMA'S   COMPACT. 


47 


"Why  is  that,  Nulma?" 

"  He  won't  own  up  to  it — before  people.  But 
/  know — I  know  how  it  was."  Nulma  pursed  up  her 
chin  and  narrowed  her  eyes  with  an  air  of  mystery, 
as  though  she  possessed  supernatural  sources  of 
information.  '  The  truth  is,  I  made  him  confess 
it  to  me,'.'  she  added,  in  a  burst  of  candour.  '  It 
was  this  way:  He  was  jealous  because  Luce  was 
offended  with  him  and  refused  to  dance  with  him, 
and  because  she  liked  dancing  with  Victor  De- 
graves.  It  was  her  birthday-party  last  week,  you 
know.  So  Malcolm  thought  he'd  pay  her  out  and 
make  her  and  Victor  ridiculous,  and  he  just  left  a 
bit  of  orange-peel  on  the  veranda,  and  they  slipped 
on  it,  and  Luce  fell  against  the  steps  and  hurt  her 
back.  Oh,  she  has  been  in  such  pain ;  and  I  should 
like  to  kill  Malcolm  Derrett,  though  he  comes  cry- 
ing to  me  every  day  to  know  if  she  is  better." 

"Are  you  so  hard-hearted  as  all  that,  Nulma? 
Wouldn't  you  forgive  a  person  for  doing  wrong  if 
he  suffered  real  remorse  for  having  done  it?  " 

"  I  would  never  forgive  anyone  for  doing  a 
mean,  underhand  thing  on  purpose  to  hurt  some- 
one else.  If  it  had  hurt  me  myself — well,  I'd  punish 
them  if  I  could." 

"  And  if  you  couldn't?" 

"  I'd  not  stop  till  I  had  got  someone  else  to  do 
it  for  me." 

Nulma  straightened  herself  against  the  veranda- 
post  as   she   enunciated   this  vindictive   sentiment, 


48  NULMA. 

and  her  eyes  emitted  a  light  which  was  almost  sav- 
age, and  was  to  Van  Vechten  a  new  revelation,  had 
he  needed  one,  of  her  character.  She  had  uncon- 
sciously crunched  up  the  spelling-book  in  her  vehe- 
mence, and  now  tossed  it  on  to  a  squatter's  chair 
with  a  laugh. 

'  There !     I  shan't  learn  any  more  to-day." 

'  Nulma,"  said  Van  Vechten,  with  a  hesitating 
deference  curious  in  one  so  much  older  and  so 
self-sufficing  and  composed,  "  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  something.  You  say  you  would  never  forgive 
a  deliberate  wrong  committed  against  yourself. 
But  suppose  someone  did  you  a  great  wrong — 
not  deliberately?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand  what  sort  of  wrong 
you  mean,  Mr.  Van  Vechten,"  answered  Nulma, 
with  one  of  her  quick,  straight  glances. 

"  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  someone  for  his 
own  purpose — not  meaning  you  harm,  but  because 
he  cared  for  you,  and  wished  to  secure  you  for  him- 
self— persuaded  you  to  sign  a  bond,  of  which  you 
were  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  understand 
the  nature,  a  bond  that  would  tie  you  down  for 
your  whole  life;  and  suppose  that,  when  it  was  too 
late,  you  got  to  realize  what  you  had  done,  and  re- 
gretted it  bitterly — well,  would  you  forgive  the  per- 
son who  had  dealt  you  that  wrong,  out  of  his  great 
love  for  you  ?  " 

'  I  should  not  call  that  love  for  me,"  answered 
Nulma.     "  If  the  person  loved  me,  he  would  wait 


NULMA'S   COMPACT. 


49 


till  he  knew  I  understood  what  I  was  doing;  and 
then,  if  he  loved  me,  he  wouldn't  want  me  to  sign 
anything  unless  it  were  of  my  own  free  will." 

"  But  you  haven't  answered  my  question,  Nul- 
ma.     Would  you  forgive  him?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "Perhaps;  but  I 
think  I  should  hate  him  ever  afterwards  for  having 
put  me  into  prison.  It  would  be  putting  a  girl  into 
prison,  wouldn't  it,  if  you  took  away  her  liberty, 
and  prevented  her  from  choosing  the  kind  of  life 
which  would  suit  her  best?" 

"  Yes ;  it  would  be  putting  her  into  prison," 
he  said  slowly.  "  You  are  right,  my  dear:  if  a  man 
really  loved  the  girl,  he  would  wait  till  of  her  own 
free  will  she  chose  to  do  what  he  wished." 

"And  if  she  never  chose  to  do  it?"  counter- 
questioned  Nulma  mischievously,  and  her  smile 
made  him  wonder  whether  she  could  have  guessed 
the  real  drift  of  his  words. 

"  Ah,  well,  he  would  have  lost  his  chance,  and 
would  have  to  let  her  go  her  own  way,  apart  from 
him.  Nulma,"  he  added,  in  a  different  tone, "  where's 
his  mightiness  the  Minister  for  Mines?  I  thought 
we  were  going  for  a  ride  this  afternoon." 

"  His  mightiness  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he 
is  very  sorry,  but  he  forgot  all  about  a  meeting  he 
has  got  to  attend — something  about  the  water- 
works.    He  said  you  would  understand." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Well,  did  he  say  anything  else? 
What  about  the  Arab?" 


50  NULMA. 

"  He  said  I  could  go  with  you  and  try  him.  I 
was  going  to  ride  him  the  day  the  Governor  came, 
but  daddy  said  there  would  be  bands  and  flags  and 
things  all  about,  and  that  I'd  better  not." 

"  All  right.  I've  got  the  roan  outside.  I'll  tell 
them,  shall  I,  to  saddle  Emin?" 

"  I  expect  he  is  saddled  already;  and  I  should 
have  been  in  my  habit  by  now  if  you  hadn't  inter- 
rupted me  at  my  spelling.  I  shan't  be  ten  minutes. 
Uncle  Van  " — pausing — "  do  you  think  we  could  go 
into  town  and  get  some  cocoanut-candy  for  Luce? 
She  does  so  love  cocoanut-candy!" 

'  I've  anticipated  your  wishes,  Nulma.  But  it 
isn't  cocoanut-candy.  See  here!"  He  went  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  brought  out  from  the  table 
where  he  had  laid  it  a  box  of  French  chocolate  tied 
with  blue  ribbons. 

Nulma  opened  it  eagerly. 

"  Budgery  you!  Oh  dear!  excuse  Blacks'  lan- 
guage ;  it  expresses  my  feelings."  She  perched  her- 
self on  the  railing  of  the  veranda,  and  proceeded  to 
crunch  bonbons.  "  If  ever  I  marry,"  she  announced, 
"  it  will  be  a  pastry-cook  or  an  importer  of  sweeties. 
You  import  sweeties,  don't  you,  Uncle  Van?" 
she  went  on,  with  maddening  unconsciousness. 
'  Isn't  that  the  good  of  being  a  merchant,  that 
you  can  have  shiploads  of  everything  ready  to 
hand?" 

;'  I  am  afraid  that  I  don't  import  French  choco- 
late, Nulma.     I  wish  I  did,  for  then  I  could  give 


NULMA'S   COMPACT. 


51 


you  a  larger  choice  than  one  can  have  in  Leichardt's 
Town." 

"  But  I  like  Leichardt's  Town  sweeties;  and  I 
think  these  are  quite  delicious,"  said  Nulma  impar- 
tially. "  Besides,  there's  always  cocoanut-candy, 
which  is  as  good  as  anything,  if  it  isn't  very  high- 
class.  Now,  I  am  not  going  to  eat  one  more."  She 
tied  the  ribbons  with  decision.  '  These  are  going 
to  Luce;  and  we'll  stop  at  Wirrib  and  leave  them 
on  our  way,  if  you  please." 

He  agreed.  There  was  nothing  Nulma  wished 
to  which  he  would  not  agree;  but  he  disliked  Mrs. 
Perryman,  who  was  a  draggled-looking  lady  with 
a  large  family,  and  not  many  good  words  for  her 
neighbours.  But  Luce  Perryman  was  Nulma's 
most  intimate  friend,  and  Mrs.  Perryman  somehow 
reminded  James  Goodeve  of  his  dead  wife,  about 
whom  there  had  been  a  tragic  story.  So,  out  of 
sentiment  hardly  to  be  expected  in  one  so  matter-of- 
fact,  though  quite  aware  of  Mrs.  Perryman's  short- 
comings in  the  social  sense,  he  allowed  his  daughter 
to  depend  upon  her  a  good  deal  for  such  chaperon- 
age  as  was  necessary  when  he  himself  was  in  the 
House  of  Assembly  or  otherwise  occupied.  Mr. 
Goodeve  hated  society,  probably  because  he  felt 
himself  ill  at  ease  in  it,  and  he  looked  forward  with 
inward  groaning  to  the  time  when  Nulma  should 
come  out,  and,  of  course,  wish  to  go  to  balls  and 
entertainments  generally.  As  yet,  Nulma  went  to 
no  parties  but  those  at  the  Perrymans',  which  were 


52  NULMA. 

not  formal,  grown-up  affairs.  There  were,  how- 
ever, other  occasions  when  her  father  desired  for  her 
the  countenance  of  some  older  woman.  With  a 
fastidiousness  not  altogether  in  keeping  with  his 
antecedents,  he  sternly  set  his  face  against  the  pre- 
vailing fashion  among  Leichardt's  Town  young 
ladies,  of  parading  Victoria  Street  in  the  afternoons, 
and  of  hanging  about  the  ice-cream  shop  where  the 
young  gentlemen  were  wont  to  lounge  after  office 
hours,  and  which  became  the  scene  of  more  or  less 
pronounced  flirtation. 

Mr.  Goodeve  was  determined  that  his  daughter 
should  never  make  herself  cheap  in  this  manner, 
and  Nulma  was  forbidden  ever  to  walk  in  Leich- 
ardt's Town  unless  Mrs.  Perryman  or  some  married 
woman  were  with  her.  Nulma  did  not  know  any 
other  married  woman,  and  so  when  the  girl  wanted 
to  do  shopping,  Mrs.  Perryman,  with  outward 
grumbling  but  inward  satisfaction,  would  don  her 
shabby  black  mantle,  rusty  lace  bonnet,  and,  with 
skirts  trailing  in  the  dust,  would  pant  along  in  the 
heat  if  it  were  summer,  or  less  laboriously  if  it  were 
winter,  beside  Nulma  and  her  own  Luce;  and  they 
would  catch  the  tram  at  the  corner  and  spend  the 
afternoon  going  from  one  shop  to  another,  winding 
up  with  the  ice-cream  shop,  where  Nulma  had  an 
opportunity  of  observing  the  demeanour  of  other 
young  ladies  already  out  and  on  their  promotion. 
She  also  heard  a  good  deal  of  gossip  while  she  was 
eating  ices  and  sweets,   for  Mrs.   Perryman   loved 


NULMA'S   COMPACT. 


53 


to  talk;  and  she  became  conscious,  too,  that  the 
young  gentlemen  from  the  offices  eyed  her  with 
admiration;  and  thus  she  gained  her  first  faint  real- 
ization of  the  fact  that  she  was  pretty.  When  not 
with  Mrs.  Perryman,  she  was  obliged  to  content 
herself  with  Luce's  descriptions  of  the  delights  of 
Victoria  Street  in  the  afternoons,  for  Mrs.  Perry- 
man  was  not  so  particular  about  her  daughter  as 
Mr.  Goodeve  was  about  his.  She  had  a  good  many 
others  coming  on,  and  it  was  an  object  to  her  to 
marry  the  elder  ones  as  soon  as  possible,  whereas 
Mr.  Goodeve  had  only  one,  and  was  particularly 
anxious  that  Nulma  should  not  marry — at  any  rate, 
too  soon.  There  was  no  reason  why  she  should 
marry.  If  Mr.  Goodeve  did  not  lose  his  money  by 
speculation,  she  would  be  a  rich  woman  in  time. 
He  had  turned  Goodeve's  Consolation  into  a  com- 
pany at  the  height  of  the  boom,  and  was  known  to 
be  shrewd  and  prudent,  so  that  Nulma's  prospects 
were  pretty  well  assured,  and  she  was  a  desirable 
match.  Of  this  fact  her  father  was  aware,  and  he 
did  his  best  to  make  people  believe  he  was  not  a 
rich  man.  He  avoided  outward  show,  made  his  girl 
dress  plainly,  and  would  not  allow  her  to  have  her 
own  pony-carriage,  which  last  was  a  standing  griev- 
ance to  Mrs.  Perryman,  as  she  knew  that  she  would 
have  had  the  use  of  it.  Mr.  Perryman  was  the  head 
of  the  Mines  department  under  the  Minister,  but 
he  had  no  private  means,  and  could  not  afford  his 
wife  a  buggy,   far  less  a  victoria,   which  was  her 


54  NULMA. 

ambition.  He  fully  understood  the  advantages  of 
being  on  good  terms  with  Ministers,  present,  past, 
and  future,  and  so  he,  too,  was  one  of  those  who 
conspired  in  the  spoiling  of  Nulma. 

Mrs.  Perryman  was  sitting  in  the  veranda  at 
Wirrib,  as  their  place  was  called,  after  a  fashion 
happily  not  then  in  disuse,  of  native  nomenclature. 
Wirrib  in  the  Blacks'  language  means  a  parrot,  and 
perhaps,  from  association  of  ideas,  the  Perryman 
girls  were  fond  of  birds,  and  had  several  cages  about 
in  which  were  Galah  and  Blue  Mountain  parrots, 
and  some  pink  and  white  and  yellow  and  white 
cockatoos.  One  of  these,  an  ancient,  knowing- 
looking  bird,  shrieked  out  at  sight  of  Nulma: 
'  Lulu,  where's  your  sweetheart?  Pretty  Cocky! 
Have  a  candy." 

''Quiet,  Cocky!"  cried  Mrs.  Perryman,  who 
seemed  more  draggled  and  hotter  than  usual, 
dressed  in  a  flowered  barege  skirt  and  an  untidy 
jacket.  '  But  the  bird  knows  what  he's  talking 
about,  doesn't  he,  Mr.  Van  Vechten?  Well,  I  am 
surprised,  Lulu,  at  your  father  letting  you  go  out 
without  him,  and  alone  with  a  single  gentleman, 
too!" 

"  Daddy  is  busy,  Mrs.  Perryman." 

"  And  he  thinks  I  am  old  enough  and  staid 
enough  to  be  trusted  with  Miss  Nulma,"  put  in 
Mr.  Van  Vechten  stiffly.  The  merchant  did  not 
like  Mrs.  Perryman. 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Goodeve  knows  what 


NULMA'S   COMPACT. 


55 


he  is  about,"  retorted  Mrs.  Perryman.  "  But  we 
shall  have  all  the  young-  ladies  of  Leichardt's  Town 
jealous,  if  Nulma  monopolizes  the  catch  of  the 
place.  What  will  Miss  Degraves  say?  I  hear  she 
is  determined  not  to  be  ousted  from  Government 
House,  and  that  she  has  tacked  herself  already  on 
to  Lady  Arthur  Keefe." 

"  You  know  everything,  Mrs.  Perryman,"  said 
Mr.  Van  Vechten.  '  I  hope  your  daughter  is  going 
on  all  right.  I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  of  her  acci- 
dent." 

Whereupon  Mrs.  Perryman  launched  into  a  long 
account  of  her  feelings  when  the  party  had  broken 
up  on  account  of  Luce's  fall.  She  complained  also 
of  the  inconvenience  Luce's  illness  caused,  and  of 
the  additional  cost  in  doctor's  fees  entailed  by  Wir- 
rib  being  beyond  the  town  radius. 

"  How  Dr.  Clayton  can  reconcile  it  to  his  con- 
science to  charge  by  the  mile,  as  if  he  were  a  Lon- 
don physician,  is  a  wonder  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Perry- 
man, "  seeing  that  all  his  patients  live  out  of  town. 
Do  the  doctors  suppose  that  we  are  going  to  steam 
ourselves  in  Leichardt's  Town  just  because  of  them? 
It  will  come  to  that  for  the  poor  people,  or  else  we 
must  physic  ourselves — and  I  call  it  short-sighted 
policy  on  the  part  of  the  doctors." 

"  I  suppose  they  have  to  pay  for  their  horses?'" 
said  Mr.  Van  Vechten. 

Then  Mrs.  Perryman  talked  of  the  origin  of 
the  accident,  and  declared  that  if  she  could  only 


56  NULMA. 

find  out  who  had  laid  that  hit  of  orange-peel — for 
she  was  convinced  that  it  had  been  set  on  purpose 
— she  would  make  Air.  Perryman  bring  an  action 
for  damages  against  the  parents  of  the  offender. 
Mr.  Van  Vechten  noticed  that  Nulma  screwed  up 
her  lips  tighter  and  that  her  eyes  flashed  again,  but 
she  never  said  a  word ;  and  Van  Vechten  conceived 
an  even  greater  admiration  than  he  already  enter- 
tained for  his  young  friend's  loyalty,  even  to  an 
enemy,  as  well  as  for  her  discretion.  It  was  satis- 
factory to  know  that  Nulma  at  least  would  not  do 
a  mean  thing,  or  betray  a'  confidence,  though  the 
confidence  had  been  made  to  her  by  a  person 
whom  she  wished  to  punish.  Nulma,  impatient, 
threw  the  little  box  of  chocolate  into  Mrs.  Perry- 
man's  lap. 

"  Catch!  "  she  cried.  '  It's  for  Luce,  with  my 
love;  and  you  are  to  be  sure  and  say  that  Mr.  Van 
Vechten  brought  it." 

4  For  you?"  said  Mrs.  Perryman  meaningly. 
"  Fie!  Receiving  presents  from  a  gentleman!  What 
will  your  father  say?  and  he's  so  down  upon  Luce 
for  taking  so  much  as  an  ice-cream  at  any  of  those 
young  gentlemen's  expense.  But  you  are  a  privi- 
leged person,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Van  Vechten?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  returned  Van  Vechten  haughtily. 
"  Miss  Nulma,  if  we  are  to  have  anything  of  a  ride, 
we'd  better  get  on." 

Nulma  left  a  tender  message  for  Luce,  to  the 
effect  that  she  would  come  round  for  a  minute  or 


NULMA'S   COMPACT. 


57 


two  after  dinner  that  evening,  and  they  rode  off, 
Mrs.  Ferryman  calling  out  after  Van  Vechten: 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  see  you  at  the  Government 
House  reception  on  Wednesday,  unless  you  mean 
to  retire  into  your  shell  again  now  that  Lady  Ran- 
dal has  gone?  We  are  all  going  to  pay  our  respects 
to  Lady  Arthur  Keefe." 

"  I  certainly  think  I  shall  retire  into  my  shell," 
said  Van  Vechten  to  Nulma,  only  answering  Mrs. 
Perryman  with  a  parting  salutation. 

"  Oh,  please  don't,"  answered  the  girl,  "  because 
/  am  going." 

"You?  Oh,  Nulma,  I  forgot;  you  are  to  be 
a  grown-up  young  lady  after  the  May  ball." 

"  Yes.  And  Mrs.  Perryman  says  it's  the  proper 
thing  for  me  to  go  to  the  reception,  and  be  intro- 
duced to  Lady  Arthur,  and  write  my  name  in  the 
book — and  all  the  rest;  and  then  I  shall  be  asked 
properly  to  the  May  ball." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  Mrs.  Perryman  was 
much  of  an  authority  on  social  matters.  But  I  sup- 
pose it's  all  right.  Is  it  she  who  is  going  to  take 
you?" 

'  Daddy  will  be  there.  Mrs.  Perryman  wants 
to  come  with  us.  We  shall  have  the  buggy  if  daddy 
takes  us.  Luce  was  to  have  gone.  But  poor  Luce! 
They  don't  know  if  she  will  be  able  to  come  out  at 
the  ball  now.  Uncle  Van,  tell  me — what  is  Lady 
Arthur  like?" 

"  She  is  not  as  nice  as  Lady  Randal.     I  wish 


53  NULMA. 

it  had  been  in  Lady  Randal's  time  that  yon  had 
been  coming  out." 

"  Oh,  Lady  Randal!  I'm  getting  tired  of  hear- 
ing so  much  about  what  I've  missed  in  Lady 
Randal.  Daddy  says  Lady  Arthur  is  very  hand- 
some." 

"  Didn't  you  go  and  see  them  when  they  ar- 
rived?" 

'  Mrs.  Perryman  couldn't  leave  Luce,  and  daddy 
was  on  duty  as  one  of  the  Ministers,  you  know.  I 
am  very  anxious  to  see  Lady  Arthur." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know;  because  she  is  Lady  Ar- 
thur, I  suppose.  It  must  feel  so  odd  to  be  a  Mar- 
quis's daughter-in-law — quite  different  from  being 
a  Nulma  Goodeve." 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  would  feel  any  different 
from  yourself,  if  a  Marquis's  son  were  to  come 
along  and  marry  you.  You  would  still  be  Nulma 
Goodeve." 

'  No,  I  shouldn't.  I  should  be  Nulma — some- 
thing else,"  she  cried,  laughing. 

'  Nulma,"  he  began  eagerly,  and  added  more 
deliberately,  "  do  you  ever  wish — do  you  ever  think 
of  being  Nulma  anything  else?" 

'  Well,  yes — I  do,"  the  girl  answered  fearlessly, 
though  she  blushed.  "  I  don't  mean  that  I  want 
to  be.     But  one  can't  help  wondering,  you  know." 

'  Wondering  what  sort  of  person  you  will 
marry:  is  that  it?  " 


NULMA'S    COMPACT. 


59 


"  Well,  yes.  I  suppose  I  shall  marry,  some  day 
or  other." 

"  I  should  think  it  is  almost  a  certainty." 

"  It's  a  very  serious  thing,  Mr.  Van  Vechten." 

"  Very." 

"  For  a  girl;  it  doesn't  matter  so  much  for  a 
man.  But  for  a  girl — it's  just  what  you  said  in 
the  veranda:  signing  a  bond  which  would  tie  one 
down  all  one's  life.  I  suppose,"  she  added,  sud- 
denly giving  him  her  quick,  full  glance,  "  I  wasn't 
thinking  much  about  it  at  the  time;  but  I  suppose 
you  meant  marrying,  didn't  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  meant  marrying.  It  was  rather  foolish 
of  me  to  say  anything  about  it,  and  perhaps  I 
oughtn't  to  go  on.  But  I  think  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
meant,  Nulma — now,  before  you  come  out  and  are 
a  grown-up  young  lady.  You  are  sure  to  hear  much 
the  same  thing  then,  very  soon.  What  I  meant  was 
that,  supposing  I,  being  much  older  than  you,  yet 
caring  for  you  more  than  I  have  ever  cared  for 
any  woman  in  the  world,  should  ask  you  to  marry 
me?"  Nulma  nodded,  as  though  there  were  noth- 
ing unnatural  in  the  proposition.  He  took  courage, 
and  went  on  more  boldly:  "Well,  Nulma,  suppose 
this  were  so.  Would  it  be  fair?  For,  you  see,  I 
am  more  than  twice — very  nearly  three  times — your 
age.  I  naturally  understand  the  world  in  a  way 
that  you  cannot  do.  I  know  what  love  means,  and 
what  marriage  means;  and  you,  my  child,  haven't 
the  least  idea  of  either.  You  have  never  seen  the 
5 


60  NULMA. 

man  yet  whom  you  could  love — tell  me  truthfully, 
my  dear.  Have  you  ever  met  any  man  with  whom 
you  could  be,  as  they  say,  'in  love'?" 

Nulma  checked  her  horse,  which  had  broken 
into  a  jog,  reining  him  in  till  he  walked  steadily. 
The  beautiful  creature  arched  its  neck  under  the 
tightened  curb,  and  she  bent  forward  and  patted 
his  mane. 

;'  He's  a  beauty,  Mr.  Van  Vechten,  but  he  just 
wants  pacing  a  bit;  he's  as  gentle  as  a  lamb.  I  be- 
lieve the  pretty  thing  would  eat  bread  out  of  my 
hand.  I'll  try  him  when  we  get  home.  I  had  no 
idea  he  was  so  quiet." 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  put  you  on  anything  that 
wasn't  quiet,  Nulma?  But  you  haven't  answered 
my  question." 

Nulma  pursed  up  her  chin  after  a  way  she  had 
when  deep  in  reflection,  and  seemed  to  be  mentally 
ticking  off  the  men  who  had  any  claim  to  consid- 
eration as  possible  lovers. 

"They  mustn't  be  married,  I  suppose?"  she 
asked,  as  if  it  were  a  condition  relating  to  the  guess- 
ing of  a  riddle. 

"Of  course  not!"  he  answered  a  little  sharply, 
for,  in  truth,  his  nerves  were  strained  by  the  situa- 
tion. "  How  could  you  love  anyone  who  was  mar- 
ried?" 

'  Well,  no,  I  couldn't,  could  I?  But  I  was  just 
thinking  that  if  Sir  John  Randal  had  ever  wanted 
to  marry  me,  I  should  have  been  so  pleased." 


NULMA'S   COMPACT.  6 1 

"Nulma!  But  you  never  spoke  to  Sir  John 
Randal,  child?" 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  she  admitted.  "  But,  then,  I've 
seen  him,  and,  of  course,  I've  heard  a  great  deal 
about  him."  She  reflected  again.  "  No,  I  can't 
think  of  anvone  else.  You  see,  I  had  always  made 
up  my  mind  that,  if  I  ever  fell  in  love  with  anyone, 
it  must  be  an  Englishman.  I  do  so  want  to  go  to 
England." 

"  No  other  nationality  would  do,  then?  Even 
if  the — man  who  loved  you  promised  to  take  you 
to  England,  and  show  you  every  sight  there  to 
which  money  would  open  the  doors?"  His  voice 
was  choked,  though  he  laughed  as  though  the  whole 
thing  were  a  good  joke. 

"  Oh,  but  that  wouldn't  be  the  same  thing," 
objected  Nulma  earnestly.  "  It  wouldn't  make  him 
an  Englishman — accustomed  all  his  life  to  ways 
and  ideas  like  what  one  reads  of  in  books.  I'd  like 
him  to  have  known  celebrated  people,  so  that  he 
could  talk  to  me  about  them.  I'd  like  him  to  have 
seen  all  the  great  places,  and  be  able  to  make  me 
feel  that  I  had  lived  there,  too.  I'd  like  him  to 
have  heard  the  best  music,  and  read  the  best  books. 
I'd  like  him  to  have  distinguished  himself,  and  to 
have  been  accustomed  to  beautiful  and  high-born 

ladies But,  oh,  what  am  I  dreaming  of?  "  she 

cried,  pulling  herself  up  short,  and  the  Arab,  too, 
in  her  excitement.  "  If  he  were  a  man  like 
that,   how   would   he   ever   come   to   choose   me — 


62  NULMA. 


vie,  that  can't  even  spell  correctly  or  talk  gram- 
mar! " 

"  There  are  other  things  which  make  a  woman 
charming  besides  being  able  to  spell  correctly  and 
talk  grammatically.  In  fact,  I  don't  feel  sure  that 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  spelling  is  at  all  indis- 
pensable," said  Van  Vechten.  "  Well,  I  think  I  am 
answered,  Nulma,  all  the  same,  and  I  won't  go  on 
to  the  other  part  of  my  supposings " 

"  Oh,  but  I  should  like  to  hear  them,"  she  an- 
swered, her  beautiful  face  glowing  upon  his  with  a 
cruel  unconsciousness.  "  Of  course,  I  know  that 
you  are  only  pretending  just  to  amuse  me,  and  to 
make  something  to  talk  about.  But  I  should  like 
to  hear,  all  the  same." 

'  No,  I  wasn't  pretending;  I  was  in  earnest. 
Don't  be  afraid,  however  " — as  he  noticed  that  a 
look  of  sorrow  and  perplexity  came  over  the  girl's 
features — "  I'm  not  going  to  worry  you  to  marry 
me!" 

"Ah!"  The  look  of  perplexity  was  succeeded 
by  one  of  relief.  She  now  thought  that  he  could 
not  be  in  earnest.  "  I'm  so  glad.  You  see,  I  like 
you  so  immensely,  Uncle  Van;  but,  of  course,  that 
isn't  the  thing,  you  know." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  with  a  sigh,  "  that  isn't  the 
thing,  and  you  were  quite  right,  my  dear.  If  I  did 
persuade  you  to  bind  yourself  in  that  way  now,  be- 
fore you  even  knew  what  the  thing  means,  you'd 
be  justified  in  hating  me  all  your  life  afterwards. 


NULMA'S   COMPACT.  6$ 

But  I'd  like  you  to  know  this,  Nulma,"  he  added, 
with  a  dreary  sort  of  laugh,  "  if  ever  you  find  out 
that  it  would  suit  you  to  marry  me,  you've  only  got 
to  tell  me  so  frankly,  and  you'll  make  me  the  proud- 
est and  happiest  man  upon  earth." 

"  You  are  good  to  me,"  said  the  girl,  smiling 
at  him  with  a  real  gratitude.  "  That's  just  how  I 
should  want  things  to  be.  It  sounds  funny,  doesn't 
it — the  idea  of  my  coming  to  you  and  saying  that 
I  should  like  you  to  marry  me?  But  you  could 
always  refuse,  you  know,  if  the  time  ever  came 
and  you  had  changed  your  mind.  I  shouldn't  feel 
hurt  or  offended." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  could  always  refuse — you  needn't 
let  that  trouble  you!  But  I  don't  think  I  should 
refuse,  Nulma.     It's  a  bargain — you  promise?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  a  bargain — that  is — what  does  it  mean 
quite,  Mr.  Van  Vechten?     Tell  me  exactly." 

"This:  I  engage  on  my  side  to  be  your  good 
friend.  You  may  consider  me  as  your  elder  broth- 
er, or  as  a  sort  of  uncle,  for  the  time  being — or  for 
always,  if  you  please — at  your  service  in  big  things 
and  in  small.  I  engage  also  not  to  bother  you 
with  talk  about  love  or  marriage;  but  you,  on 
your  side,  engage  to  come  honestly  to  me,  if  at 
any  time  it  suits  you — as  I  said — to  marry  me, 
and  to  tell  me  so  without  false  pride  or  hesita- 
tion." 

'That  sounds  very  easy;  I  can  certainly  prom- 
ise that;  and  of  course  it's  a  bargain.     We  ought 


64  NULMA. 

to  shake  hands  upon  it,  oughtn't  wc,  if  the  Arab 
will  let  me  get  close  enough." 

She  pulled  her  horse,  which  was  docile  and  an- 
swered to  the  bit,  a  little  nearer  to  him  and  held 
out  her  hand.  They  were  riding  upon  a  very  quiet 
path,  having  turned  off  inland  from  the  river;  and 
on  either  side  were  only  stretches  of  gum-trees,  with 
here  and  there  the  cottage  of  a  German  farmer  set 
in  its  grove  of  bananas.  Mr.  Van  Vechten  took 
Nulma's  hand,  but  instead  of  merely  pressing  it, 
he  raised  it  to  his  lips.  She  noticed  with  some  sur- 
prise that  his  calm,  sallow  face  flushed  to  a  deep 
red  as  he  did  so,  and  that  his  eyes  had  a  strange  look 
in  them  as  he  turned  them  upon  her  again. 

'  Now,"  he  said,  "  here's  a  nice  bit  of  soft  road. 
Let  us  try  Emin  at  a  canter.  Don't  ride  him  too 
much  on  the  curb;  he  doesn't  want  it." 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   GOVERNMENT   HOUSE   RECEPTION. 

Lady  Arthur's  first  reception  was  necessarily 
a  somewhat  formal  affair.  She  had  wanted  to  have 
it  in  the  garden,  but  had  been  overruled  by  the  aide- 
de-camp,  who  had  pointed  out  that  the  crowd  would 
probably  be  considerable,  and  that  there  might  be 
a  difficulty  over  the  announcements,  and  in  mak- 
ing clear  to  her  who  were  the  wives  and  daughters 
of  officials,  and  the  people  who  might  claim  from 
her  a  greater  amount  of  consideration  than  the  mere 
common  herd.  The  aide-de-camp,  who  was  new 
to  his  work,  had  taken  great  pains  to  get  social 
information,  and  was  extremely  anxious  that  the 
new  reign  should  begin  without  mistakes.  The 
Governor  had  made  one  already  in  declining  an 
invitation  to  a  show  up-country.  He  had  given 
the  plea  that  his  health  hardly  permitted  him  to 
undergo  the  fatigue  of  Bush  drives  and  agricultural 
functions  in  the  warm  weather.  The  show  had  been 
postponed  in  consequence  till  the  end  of  April,  but 
there  had  been  much  dissatisfaction,  and  the  Radi- 

65 


66  NULMA. 

cal  paper  had  had  a  condemnatory  leading  article, 
which  was  headed,  with  more  regard  to  alliteration 
than  to  accuracy,  "  Valetudinarian  Vice-Royalty." 
The  Governor's  manner,  too,  had  not  made  a  fa- 
vourable impression.  It  was  considered  too  stiff  and 
formal;  and  people  said  that  if  he  wanted  to  be 
popular  he  would  have  to  learn  the  difference  be- 
tween a  Crown  colony  and  one  with  its  own  House 
of  Representatives,  and  free  and  independent  consti- 
tution. The  aide-de-camp  was  aware  of  the  dissatis- 
faction, and  spoke  to  Lord  Arthur  in  the  hope  that 
he  might  be  able  to  say  a  word  to  the  Governor, 
which  would  produce  at  least  a  show  of  geniality. 
But  Lord  Arthur  was  not  disturbed,  as  was  the  aide- 
de-camp.  Sir  John  Randal,  he  said,  being  a  young 
man  and  a  professional  Governor,  popularity  had 
been  his  game,  whereas  Colonel  Burnside  was  an 
old  man  who  didn't  care  a  hang  about  popularity, 
and  meant  to  retire  on  his  pension  as  soon  as  his 
term  was  over.  Somehow,  this  view  of  things  got 
into  the  papers  too,  and  Leichardt's  Land  was  in- 
dignant at  having  been  made  the  means  of  secur- 
ing a  retiring  pension.  On  the  whole,  things,  so- 
cially speaking,  were  not  promising,  and  the  aide- 
de-camp  placed  his  whole  hope  on  Lady  Arthur. 

She  did  not  disappoint  him.  She,  too,  had 
taken  pains  in  her  own  way  to  get  information,  and 
knew  almost  as  well  as  the  aide-de-camp  to  whom 
she  ought  to  be  gracious.  Consequently,  she  had 
a  pretty  word  or  two  for  the  Ministers'  wives,  and 


THE   GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECEPTION.      67 

the  persons  who  it  behooved  her  to  honour.  She 
received  in  the  large  hall,  which  at  the  smaller 
dances  was  used  as  a  ballroom,  and  which,  with 
the  aid  of  Captain  Textor,  the  aide-de-camp,  who 
had  a  talent  for  decoration,  the  curator  of  the  Bo- 
tanical Gardens,  and  her  own  maid,  she  caused  to 
look  very  different  from  what  it  had  done  in  Lady 
Randal's  time.  The  former  Governor's  wife,  hav- 
ing been  accustomed  to  the  stiff  magnificence  of 
Italian  palaces,  had  never  imbibed  the  modern  taste 
in  arrangement.  Lady  Arthur,  on  the  contrary,  had 
been  obliged  in  her  little  London  house  to  make 
up  for  lack  of  costly  furniture  by  a  skilful  disposi- 
tion of  palms  and  draperies.  Thus,  her  Rhodian 
and  Cretan  embroideries  were  something  new  in 
Leichardt's  Town,  and  gave  food  for  conversa- 
tion. 

'  I  hope  you  won't  think  I  have  been  making 
too  many  innovations,"  said  Lady  Arthur  sweetly 
to  Airs.  Latham,  who  was  a  fat,  good-natured-look- 
ing lady  with  prematurely  gray  hair  turned  back 
from  her  unwrinkled  forehead.  "  I  understand  that 
Lady  Randal  didn't  use  the  hall  as  a  sitting-room, 
but  the  Governor  thinks  it  the  coolest  part  of  the 
house;  and  as  he  is  accustomed  to  big  airy  rooms, 
we  spend  a  good  deal  of  our  time  in  it,  and  I  have 
tried  to  make  it  home-like." 

She  smiled  up  at  Colonel  Burnside,  who  stood 
beside  her,  and  to  whom  she  gave  the  initiative  as 
to  the  people  he  ought  to  talk  to.     He  could  not 


68  NULMA. 

help  being  stiff,  but  his  manner  had  an  old-fash- 
ioned courtesy,  which  was  attractive  to  women, 
and  Mrs.  Latham  found  herself  chatting  with  the 
Governor  more  unrestrainedly  than  her  husband's 
description  had  led  her  to  suppose  was  possible. 
She  was  very  shy,  but  perfectly  unaffected,  and 
Mr.  Latham  owed  much  of  his  success  to  her  tact 
and  good-humour.  Two  of  the  other  Ministers' 
wives  were  vulgar,  and  a  third  was  commonplace, 
and  Lady  Arthur  began  to  think  that  the  political 
dinners  would  be  trying  affairs.  But  she  was  bound 
to  admit  that  there  were  some  extremely  charming 
women  among  the  ladies  of  Leichardt's  Town. 
Mrs.  Degraves,  for  instance,  wife  of  the  President 
of  the  Council — lately  Acting  Governor — looked 
as  if  she  had  been  packed  up  in  Paris  and  sent  out 
in  silver  paper,  her  bonnet  was  so  pretty  and  her 
flowered  silk  so  well  made.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
she  and  her  daughter — the  Miss  Degraves  to  whom 
Lady  Randal  had  been  so  anxious  to  marry  Mr. 
Van  Vechten — got  out  a  box  every  half-year  from 
a  fashionable  London  dressmaker.  Mrs.  Degraves 
had  a  sprightly  way  of  talking.  She  was  a  free- 
thinker, and  went  in  for  being  intellectual.  She  had 
a  faded,  distinguished  face,  and  carried  her  years 
well.  Miss  Degraves  was  tall  and  dark,  and  cer- 
tainly handsome. 

"  This  is  quite  delightful,"  said  Mrs.  Degraves, 
nodding  round  at  the  palms  and  embroideries.  "  I 
can  see,  Lady  Arthur,  that  you  are  going  to  teach 


THE    GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECEPTION.      69 

us  how  to  be  artistic;  I  assure  you  we  want  a  few 
lessons  badly." 

Lady  Arthur  said  that  it  had  not  struck  her 
that  the  services  of  an  art  apostle  were  needed  in 
Leichardt's  Town. 

"  Ah,  but  you  haven't  been  into  any  of  our 
houses  as  yet;  and  I  don't  suppose  you'll  ever  have 
great  opportunities  of  judging,  unless  it  is  on  Ubi 
Downs.  The  Government  House  people  always 
stay  with  our  big  squatters  up  there ;  but  they  don't 
visit  among  us  ordinary  Leichardtstonians,  except 
on  verv  state  occasions." 

Mrs.  Degraves  laughed,  knowing  that  she  her- 
self was  not  to  be  included  among  the  ordinary 
Leichardtstonians,  and  being  secure  in  the  con- 
sciousness that  her  own  pretty  drawing-room  was 
above  criticism. 

Lady  Arthur  turned  to  greet  Mr.  Van  Vechten, 
whom  she  recognised  instantly.  He  was  quiet  and 
impressive  as  usual,  and  was  dressed  more  cor- 
rectly than  many  of  the  gentlemen  present;  but  he 
looked,  notwithstanding,  slightly  out  of  place  in  a 
fashionable  gathering,  and  seemed  a  little  nervous 
— if,  indeed,  the  word  "  nervous  "  could  be  applied 
to  one  so  composed — for  his  eyes  roved  restlessly 
about,  and  every  now  and  then  glanced  quickly 
towards  the  door. 

'  Mrs.  Perryman,  Mr.  James  Goodeve,  Miss 
Nulma  Goodeve:"  so  the  butler  announced,  and 
Caspar  Van  Vechten's  eyes  ceased  from  roving. 


yo  NULMA. 

Mrs.  Perryman's  frilled  scarf  and  high  bonnet 
obscured  Nulma's  slight  form;  but  she  passed  on 
after  a  formal  greeting  by  Lady  Arthur,  who  knew 
that  she  was  only  the  wife  of  a  Civil  servant.  Then 
somehow  a  rift  in  the  crowd  brought  the  young 
girl  into  almost  startling  prominence.  She  stood 
quite  still,  while  Lady  Arthur  said  something  nice 
to  her  father,  and  watched  Margot's  face  with  a 
grave  and  intensely  eager  interest.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  Nulma  to  hide  anything  she  was  feeling, 
and  she  was  overpoweringly  interested  in  Lady 
Arthur.  The  foreign-looking  woman,  with  her  nar- 
row face,  her  thin  nose,  her  peculiar  smile,  the 
blinking  gaze  she  gave  out  of  her  dark,  brilliant 
eyes,  and  her  crinkly  hair  parted  above  her  low 
forehead — the  whole  personality,  in  short,  affected 
Nulma  as  no  other  in  her  life  had  ever  affected  her. 
She  was  not  quite  sure  whether  she  was  attracted 
or  repelled,  but  of  the  fascination  Lady  Arthur  exer- 
cised there  could  be  no  doubt.  Nulma  had  never 
seen  anyone  the  least  like  her.  How  could  people 
say  that  she  resembled  Lady  Randal?  There- had 
been  nothing  subtle  and  serpentine  about  Lady 
Randal.  Nulma  could  see  no  point  of  similarity, 
except  that  both  women  were  dark  and  had  the  for- 
eign trick  of  gesture.  To  Nulma,  every  word  that 
Lady  Arthur  spoke  seemed  like  a  caress;  but  might 
it  not  be  a  dangerous  caress,  like  that  which  a  cat 
may  give  the  mouse  with  which  she  is  playing  be- 
fore dealing  it  the  death-blow?    Lady  Arthur's  eyes 


THE   GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECEPTION.       y\ 

rested  full  on  Nulma's  face.  The  two  women  gazed 
at  each  other,  and  Lady  Arthur  paused  in  the 
sentence  she  was  addressing  Mr.  Goodeve.  It 
had  been  in  relation  to  the  show,  and  the  Gov- 
ernor's regret  at  his  inability  to  attend  it.  She  had 
been  explaining  to  Mr.  Goodeve  that  the  Governor 
— who  was  now  in  conversation  with  Mrs.  De- 
graves — was  not  ill  at  all  in  reality,  but  only  a  little 
enfeebled  temporarily  by  the  effects  of  an  African 
fever  which  had  again  attacked  him  in  the  rainy 

heat  off  Ceylon.    "  But  your  climate  is  so "  she 

was  saying,  and  stopped. 

"  Mr.  Goodeve,"  she  added,  "  I  want  to  know 
your  daughter.  I  haven't  said,  '  How  do  you  do?' 
to  her  yet.  Ah,  how  pretty  she  is!" — this  in  a 
rapid  undertone. 

'  It  is  Nulma's  first  appearance  in  society, 
Lady  Arthur,"  said  James  Goodeve,  reddening 
with  pleasure  at  the  sensation  his  daughter  had 
created.  "  She  is  to  come  out  at  your  Birthday 
ball." 

"  So  I  have  heard  already,"  said  Lady  Arthur, 
giving  Nulma  her  hand,  and  smiling  sweetly  at  the 
girl.  "  Do  you  know,  Miss  Goodeve,  yours  was 
almost  the  first  lady's  name  which  interested  me 
on  my  arrival  in  Leichardt's  Land.  I  happened 
to  overhear  a  conversation  about  you  on  the  deck 
of  the  tender — I  couldn't  help  hearing  it;  it  wasn't 
anything  private,  I  assure  you,  and  it  was  between 
your  father  and  Mr.  Latham  and  another  gentle- 


72 


NULMA. 


man,  whom  I  afterwards  found  to  be  Mr.  Van 
Vechten" 

"  Ah,  then,"  said  Nulma,  "  it  was  certain  to  be 
something  nice,  for  not  one  of  them  would  say  an 
ill  word  of  me." 

'  You  are  fortunate  to  be  so  absolutely  con- 
vinced of  the  single-hearted  devotion  of  three  men. 
But,  of  course,  one  of  them  is  your  father." 

"  And  Mr.  Latham  has  known  me  ever  since 
I  was  a  baby,"  said  Nulma;  "and  the  other  is — 
Mr.  Van  Vechten." 

She  had  spoken  quite  innocently,  but  a  sudden 
blush  suffused  her  face  as  she  remembered  the  ride 
and  the  bargain.  Lady  Arthur  gave  her  little  low 
laugh. 

"  I  am  perfectly  ready  to  believe  in  Mr.  Van 
Vechten's  devotion,"  she  said.  "  He  was  here  a 
moment  ago.  Now,  Miss  Nulma,  you  must  have 
some  tea,  and  I  shall  see  that  you  are  well  taken 
care  of  at  the  Birthday  ball.  But  tell  me — your 
name  struck  me  so.  How  did  you  come  by  it? 
It  sounds  Eastern.     I  have  never  heard  it  before." 

Nulma  glanced  at  her  father,  whose  bluff,  burly 
face  had  a  pained  expression.  He  turned  abruptly 
away.  Lady  Arthur  perceived  that  she  had  been 
indiscreet. 

"  I  see,"  she  murmured.  "  Never  mind.  Per- 
haps it  was  your  mother's  name." 

"  No;  it  was  not  my  mother's  name,"  answered 
Nulma.     "  But  my   mother  gave   it  to   me   when 


THE   GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECErTION. 


73 


she  was  dying.  It  is  a  native  word.  It  means  a 
snake." 

"  It  is  very  pretty,  but  I  don't  think  it  suits  you 
— the  meaning  of  it,  at  least.  I  shouldn't  fancy  that 
you  had  any  of  the  serpent's  guile,  my  dear.  Well, 
you  must  have  some  tea,  and  I  will  find  someone 
nice  to  take  care  of  you." 

She  glanced  over  the  heads  of  the  little  crowd 
surrounding  her,  who  happened  to  be  mostly 
women;  and  Nulma  saw  how  tall  she  was.  At  that 
moment  the  butler  announced  some  other  names. 
Lady  Arthur  made  an  imperious  little  motion  with 
her  head  to  a  gentleman  behind.  He  stepped  for- 
ward. 

"Come,"  she  said;  "I  want  to  present  you  to 
the  most  charming  young  lady  in  the  world,  whose 
first  appearance  it  is  in  society,  her  father  says,  and 
who  is  coming  out  at  the  Birthday  ball.  Take  her 
to  have  some  tea,  and  show  her  how  I  have  altered 
the  drawing-rooms.  Miss  Nulma  Goodeve,  let  me 
introduce  your  new  Chief  Justice,  Mr.  Kenward." 

Kenward  had  noticed  Nulma  directly  she  came 
in,  and  had  been  greatly  struck  by  her  beautiful 
face  and  the  shy,  half-wild  way  in  which  she  car- 
ried herself.  He  felt  inexpressibly  attracted  towards 
her.  The  look  Lady  Arthur  gave  him  over  her 
shoulder  annoyed  him,  however.  It  seemed  to  say: 
"  I  have  introduced  you  to  your  child  of  Nature. 
Don't  abuse  my  trust." 

He  held  out  his  arm  to   Nulma,   but  she  did 


74  NULMA. 

not  take  it,  not  being  accustomed  to  the  offering 
of  men's  arms  except  for  a  dance.  She  walked 
beside  him  very  straight  and  erect,  her  stag-like 
head,  in  its  pretty  white  straw  hat,  which,  tilted  as 
the  fashion  was,  allowed  the  coils  of  her  yellowish- 
brown  hair  to  show  plainly,  topping  the  heads  of 
most  of  the  other  women.  He  thought  she  was 
like  a  young  gum-sapling,  she  was  so  straight  and 
so  slender  and  tall. 

'  The  tea  is  in  the  veranda,"  he  said,  "  and  we 
will  come  back  to  the  drawing-room  afterwards." 

'  I  don't  want  any  tea,  thank  you,"  said  Nulma. 
"  I  had  some  with  Luce  Perryman  at  Wirrib." 

He  wondered  who  Luce  Perryman  might  be 
and  where  Wirrib  was.  The  word  came  from  her 
lips  with  the  prettiest  whirr. 

i(  I'm  glad  to  find  that  Leichardt's  Land  is  not 
following  the  bad  practice  of  some  of  her  sister 
colonies,  and  changing  the  native  names  into  Cock- 
ney ones,"  he  observed. 

"  I  don't  know  where  Cockney  is,"  said  Nulma. 
"  But  I  think  we  are  getting  nearly  as  bad  as  the 
others.  We  have  called  our  long  streets  after  the 
English  history  queens,  and  the  cross  ones  after 
the  kings;  and  they  might  just  as  well  have  had 
pretty  Australian  names." 

"  Such  as ?  " 

"  Oh,  Wirrib,  Coryea,  or  Yarrabin,  or  ever  so 
many  others.  I'd  have  chosen  the  name  of  some 
native  beast  or  bird,  so  that  in  ages  to  come,  when 


THE   GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECEPTION. 


75 


the  blacks  are  all  dead  and  done  for,  their  language 
would  remain." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  and  it  is  a  pretty,  origi- 
nal notion.    Tell  me,  what  do  the  words  mean  ?  " 

'  Wirrib  means  parrot,  and  Coryea  is  paddy- 
melon,  and  Yarrabin  is  the  white  gum." 

'  You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal  about  the 
Blacks'  language,   Miss   Goodeve?" 

"  I  used  to  talk  it  quite  well  when  I  was  a  little 
thing  out  West,"  answered  Nulma.  '  But  that 
isn't  the  Western  dialect,"  she  added.  "  I  learned 
those  names  from  a  half-caste  woman  daddy  took 
from  the  camp  down  South  and  brought  up  with 
him." 

They  had  reached  the  veranda,  where  a  long 
table  was  spread  with  fruit,  ices,  and  tea  and  coffee. 

'  Won't  you  try  some  red  guavas  and  cream?" 
said  Kenward.  '  They're  the  Australian  substitute, 
aren't  they,  for  our  strawberry  squash?" 

'  You  shouldn't  say  '  our,'  "  said  Nulma  grave- 
ly. '  You  should  forget  now  that  you  are  English, 
and  make  yourself  Australian.  A  Leichardt's  Land 
Chief  Justice  ought  to  be  Australian,  you  know. 
Mr.  Latham  and  the  Ministers  were  rather  cross 
when  you  were  appointed." 

'Were  they  indeed?"  said  Kenward,  handing 
her  the  plate  of  iced  guavas  and  cream,  of  which 
Nulma  showed  a  proper  appreciation.  "  Please  tell 
me  why." 

'  They  said  it  was  keeping  the  colony  in  lead- 
6 


j6  NULMA. 

ing-strings,"  replied  Nulma,  "  and  treating  us  as 
if  we  needed  a  schoolmaster." 

'  You  are  very  young  still,"  said  Kenward — 
"  the  colony,  I  mean.  I  had  not  intended  to  be 
personal.  I  have  no  doubt  the  Home  Government 
took  that  fact  into  consideration.  Don't  you  think 
that  perhaps  in  some  ways  you  do  want  a  school- 
master? " 

"  /  do,  I  know,"  answered  Nulma,  with  perfect 
frankness,  "  or  a  schoolmistress.  But,  then,  daddy 
never  would  send  me  to  school;  and  I  did  always 
have  such  stupid  governesses.  It's  not  surprising 
that  I  am  so  badly  educated." 

"Are  you  badly  educated?"  asked  Kenward, 
amused.  "  I  should  say  that  you  were  very  well 
educated.  I  don't  suppose  that  any  of  the  Oxford 
professors   could   talk   Blacks'   language." 

"  Oh,  that!  "  she  exclaimed,  with  an  accent  of 
contempt.  "  But  I  make  horrible  mistakes  in  spell- 
ing, and  I  never  can  recollect  a  date.  Still,  Mr. 
Kenward,  it  doesn't  follow  that,  because  I  want  a 
schoolmaster,  the  other  Leichardtstonians  want  one, 
too.  But  I  am  sure  they  will  like  you  very  much 
when  they  know  you,"  she  added  graciously — "  bet- 
ter, perhaps,  than  one  of  themselves,  for  they  would 
have  been  jealous  of  him  before  long." 

She  had  hardly  looked  at  Kenward  until  now. 
She  had  rattled  on,  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  doing  with  Van  Vechten  or  Mr.  Latham,  or  any 
of  the  other  men  she  knew  intimately,  of  whom, 


THE   GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECEPTION.      77 

indeed,  the  number  was  small;  and  perhaps  this 
was  the  reason  of  her  perfect  unconsciousness.  But 
now,  as  she  glanced  up  at  Kenward's  dark  face, 
so  impressive  in  its.  look  of  power  and  breeding, 
and  in  the  sensitive  curves  of  his  fine  mouth  and 
chin,  and  as  she  noticed  certain  unconsidered  trifles 
about  him,  which  stamped  him  as  different  from 
the  other  men  she  knew — the  cut  of  his  clothes,  the 
colour  of  his  tie,  the  unobtrusive  watch-chain  and 
links  and  centre  stud,  which  were  so  plain,  but  had 
a  certain  distinctiveness  and  richness — a  feeling 
new  to  Nulma  came  over  her,  something  of  the 
same  feeling  that  she  had  about  Lady  Arthur,  only 
that  in  this  there  was  nothing  of  repulsion  mingled 
with  the  vague  fascination. 

"Shall  we  go  and  look  at  the  drawing-room?" 
asked  Kenward.  "  I  wonder  which  you  will  like 
the  best.  Lady  Arthur's  or  Lady  Randal's  arrange- 
ment." 

"  I  shall  not  know,  for  I  have  never  been  in 
the  house  before,"  answered  Nulma. 

"  Really !  Oh  yes,  I  remember  that  Lady 
Arthur  said  this  was  your  first  entrance  into  so- 
ciety." 

He  laughed  slightly.  This  kind  of  social  per- 
formance seemed  to  him  such  a  marionette  play. 
There  was  no  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  the  laugh,  and 
if  there  had  been,  she  was  too  deeply  impressed 
with  the  importance  of  her  entrance  into  society  to 
notice  it. 


78  NULMA. 

"  I  am  to  come  out  at  the  May  ball,"  she  an- 
nounced gravely.  "  Oh,  did  Lady  Arthur  do  all 
this?" 

She  uttered  the  exclamation  as  they  paused  in 
the  larger  reception-room,  which  was  prettily 
shaped,  with  two  deep-set  bow-windows,  their  em- 
brasures made  to  seem  deeper  by  means  of  screens 
put  endways,  over  which  Lady  Arthur  had  hung 
some  of  her  famous  embroideries.  The  curator  had 
supplied  well-grown  palms  in  green  tubs,  and  their 
broad  fronds  threw  shadows  over  the  cosy  corners. 
The  chairs  and  couches  had  been  pulled  out  from 
their  former  stiff  positions,  and  there  was  the  usual 
litter  of  small  tables,  flowers,  and  miscellaneous 
properties  such  as  the  modern  woman  likes  to  strew 
about  her — and,  for  those  days,  Lady  Arthur  was 
very  modern.  The  room  was  just  a  tasteful,  slightly- 
eccentric  English  drawing-room,  but  to  Nulma  it 
seemed  a  scene  of  luxury  and  picturesque  extrava- 
gance unparalleled. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  must  be  Lady  Arthur's  doing," 
replied  Kenward,  "  though  I  expect  Textor — he 
is  the  aide,  you  know — had  a  hand  in  it.  Textor 
has  a  genius  for  fixing  up  plants  and  dinner-tables 
and  draperies.  No  doubt  you'll  see  something  as- 
tonishing in  that  way  at  the  May  ball." 

"  I  think  Lady  Arthur  must  be  very  clever," 
said  Nulma.  "  I  should  never  have  thought  of 
sticking  up  needlework  like  that.  Is  it  what  people 
do  in  England?     I  shall  tell  Mrs.  Perryman;  she 


THE   GOVERNMENT    HOUSE   RECEPTION. 


79 


does  such  a  lot  of  woolwork,  and  never  knows  how 
to  fix  it." 

Kenward  laughed  again,  and  wondered  whether 
Lady  Arthur  would  be  amused  at  the  child  of  Na- 
ture's comparison  of  her  wonderful  old  embroid- 
eries with  Mrs.  Perryman's  woolwork.  On  second 
thoughts,  however,  he  decided  not  to  tell  her  of  it. 
The  girl  added  reflectively,  as  though  she  had  been 
weighing  the  matter: 

"  Mrs.  Perryman's  work  wouldn't  look  at  all 
like  that,  though.  It's  hideous — like  herself.  Stod- 
gy, you  know." 

"  Well,"  said  Kenward,  "  I  must  say  that  Mrs. 
Perryman's  personality — she  is  the  lady  with  roses 
in  her  bonnet — doesn't  suggest  the  graceful  Arab 
girls  who  made  that  embroidery.  Arab  girls  have 
all  to  embroider  a  long  strip  before  they  can  be 
married.     Did  you  know?" 

'  No;  I  don't  know  anything  about  Arab 
girls.  Have  you  been  in  the  East?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"  Oh,  only  along  the  beaten  track.  I've  win- 
tered in  Egypt  and  Algeria." 

Nulma  seemed  to  be  again  reflecting  upon  the 
embroidery  and  upon  the  difference  between  Mrs. 
Perryman  and  graceful  Arab  maidens. 

"  I  should  think  they  must  have  been  thinking 
happy  thoughts,"  she  said.  "  People  must  put  a 
good  deal  of  themselves  into  their  work,  shouldn't 
you  say?" 


So  NULMA. 

'  I'm  sure  they  do."  Kenward  remembered  a 
fanciful  arabesque  pattern  upon  which  Lady  Ar- 
thur had  occupied  herself  during  tWe  voyage,  and 
about  which  he  had  teased  her,  as  representing  her 
varying  moods.  "  I  wonder  what  your  work  would 
be  like!"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  I  never  do  any.  But  if  I  did,  it  wouldn't 
be  Mrs.  Perryman's  kind.  I'd  get  Bush  flowers 
and  twist  them  into  patterns  of  wreaths  or  some- 
thing— round  boomerangs  and  nulla-nullas,  so  as 
to  remind  one  of  romantic  savage  things.  I'd  group 
them  to  make  one  fancy  each  flower  was  a  thought, 
and  each  thought  part  of  a  song." 

"  And  your  song?  A  native  woman's  love-song, 
I  conclude." 

Nulma  laughed. 

'  Who  would  ever  dream  of  a  blackgin  sing- 
ing a  love-song?  Poor  things!  they're  never  given 
the  chance.  If  a  black  fellow  takes  a  fancy  to  a 
girl,  he  just  throws  a  spear  into  the  camp  where 
she  is,  and  if  she  is  not  sold  to  anyone  else  he  pays 
for  her  and  gets  her.  There's  nothing  very  romantic 
about  that.  My  song  would  be  a  song  of  the  Bush, 
that's  all." 

"  A  song  of  the  woods  and  streams;  of  whisper- 
ing she-oaks  and  rustling  gums;  a  song  of  the  cries 
of  Bush  birds,  and  of  the  pure  thoughts  of  Nature- 
spirits.  It  should  be  sweet,  wild,  joyous,  but  with 
a  note  of  melancholy  in  it.  I  like  the  notion  of  your 
song,  Miss  Nulma,  and  I  hope  that  some  day  you 


THE    GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECEPTION.      8 1 

will  work  that  piece  of  embroidery  and  give  me  the 
interpretation  thereof." 

Nulma's  eyes  met  his  in  a  fearless,  half-doubt- 
ing gaze;  then  drooped,  reassured.  She  had  fan- 
cied uneasily  for  a  moment  that  he  might  be  laugh- 
ing at  her.  He  in  his  turn  was  startled  by  the 
brilliancy  of  those  brown  eyes,  with  the  yellow 
glints  in  them  which  harmonized  with  her  chestnut 
hair,  and  with  the  hue  of  her  soft  warm  cheeks. 
Her  skin  in  its  sun-kissed  bloom  made  him  think 
of  a  ripe  apricot.  A  fantastic  idea  seized  him  that 
he  would  like  to  see  her  dressed  in  certain  shades 
of  russet  and  yellow-green,  to  carry  out  the  simile. 
He  asked  absently: 

"Do  you  ever  wear  yellow  and  green?" 

'Yellow  and  green?"  she  repeated.  "No; 
why?" 

"  I  beg  a  hundred  pardons,  but  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  should  like  to  make  a  study  of  you  in 
those  colours.    That's  all." 

"A  study  of  me?"  she  said,  puzzled.  "What 
sort  of  a  study?  " 

"  A  study  in  oils.     I  should  like  to  paint  you." 

"  Are  you  a  painter?  "  she  questioned  with  awed 
interest. 

"  I  dabble  a  bit.  Do  you  think  it's  an  odd  foible 
for  a  Chief  Justice?  Please  don't  respect  me  the 
less,  or  give  me  away,  just  yet,  to  the  Leichardt- 
stonians." 

!<  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that — at  least,  of  its  being 


82  NULMA. 

an  odd  foible."  She  did  not  know  what  he  meant 
exactly  by  being  "  given  away  ";  his  modern  jargon 
was  unfamiliar  to  her.     "  But,  oh!  I  love  pictures." 

"  Do  you?  I  thought  you  would  care  for  art, 
somehow." 

"  Oh!  How  could  I  know  anything  about  art? 
We  haven't  any  out  here.  That's  what  Luce  tells 
me   Mrs.   Degraves   is  always   saying." 

'Where  do  you  learn,  then,  to  love  pictures?" 

'  They  had  an  exhibition  here,  you  know,  last 
year;  and  the  galleries  of  Melbourne  and  Sydney 
and  some  of  the  rich  people  down  there,  sent  up 
paintings.  They  were  by  the  great  artists  in  Eng- 
land, and  I  used  to  go  ever  so  often  to  look  at 
them." 

'  Perhaps  you  would  care  to  look  at  one  or  two 
little  things  I  brought  out  with  me,"  he  said.  "  They 
are  not  by  great  artists.  I  can't  afford  to  buy 
Millais  and  Tadema,  and  the  rest  of  them.  But 
I  shall  be  surprised  if  the  fellows  who  painted  mine 
haven't  a  big  name  some  day.  Miss  Goodeve,  I 
shall  feel  very  much  honoured  if  you  will  come 
some  time  with  your  father  or  Mrs.  Perryman  and 
see  my  diggings  and  the  pictures." 

'  I  should  like  very  much  to  come,"  answered 
Nulma  frankly.  "  I  suppose  that  daddy  will  let 
me,  now  that  I  have  come  out.  He  won't  let 
me  walk  in  Victoria  Street,  you  know,  like  other 
girls." 

"  I  think  your  father  is  perfectly  right." 


THE   GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECEPTION.       83 

"  And  he  never  would  let  me  know  anyone — 
except  the  Perrymans  and  Mr.  Van  Vechten." 

"  Mr.  Van  Vechten  must  feel  himself  to  be 
a  very  favoured  person,"  began  the  Chief  Justice, 
when  the  gentleman  in  question  came  up  to  where 
the  two  were  standing.  He  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Kenward,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  on  the 
Government  tender. 

"  I  hear  you  talking  about  me,"  he  said;  "and 
you  are  quite  right.  I  do  feel  myself  greatly  fa- 
voured in  being  permitted  to  have  the  honour  of 
occasionally  escorting  Miss  Goodeve.  Nulma,"  he 
added,  "  your  father  asked  me  to  bring  you  to  him. 
He's  over  there,  talking  to  Mrs.  Degraves,  and  he 
would  like  you  to  be  introduced  to  her." 

Kenward  bowed  and  withdrew.  Nulma  walked 
away  beside  Van  Vechten. 

"  I  wish  you  hadn't  interrupted  us  just  now," 
she  said,  a  little  pettishly.  "  I  was  having  a  beau- 
tiful talk." 

'  Then,  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  put  a  stop  to  it," 
replied  Van  Vechten  stiffly;  and  his  still  face  looked 
more  than  ever  as  if  it  were  cut  in  ivory. 

"  Don't  be  cross  with  me,  Uncle  Van.  You 
know  what  I  mean." 

"  I  don't  think  I  do  quite,  Nulma.  Your  talk 
had  lasted  a  long  time;  and  it  would  really  be  a 
nice  thing  for  you  to  know  Mrs.  Degraves;  she 
might  take  you  about  sometimes,  instead  of  Mrs. 
Ferryman." 


84  NULMA 

'  I  didn't  mean  that,"  cried  Nulma,  repentant. 
"  Of  course,  it  was  quite  budgery  of  you  to  come 
bothering  about  me.  Still,  I  did  have  a  beautiful 
talk." 

"  What  was  it  all  about?" 

'  Heaps  of  things.  Pictures,  and  needlework, 
and  love-songs." 

"  Love-songs?" 

"  Oh,  well,  I  said  there  couldn't  be  a  blackgin's 
love-song — Nature-songs.  And  he  said  he'd  like  to 
paint  me." 

"Oh,  did  he  indeed?" 

'  You  think  a  Chief  Justice  oughtn't  to  paint 
pictures.  It  doesn't  seem  quite  to  go  with  trying 
people  and  sentencing  them.  Would  he  ever  have 
to  sentence  them  to  death?" 

'  Yes;  if  the  jury  had  found  them  guilty  of 
murder,  or  anything  of  that  sort." 

Nulma  shuddered.  That  view  of  Kenward's 
vocation  had  not  before  struck  her. 

'  Horrible!  How  could  he  do  it?  One  forgets 
he  is  the  Chief  Justice " 

She  paused.  They  had  made  the  length  of  the 
big  room,  and  were  in  the  smaller  one  off  it,  where 
Mr.  Goodeve  was  standing  in  embarrassed  con- 
versation with  Mrs.  Degraves.  He  looked  relieved 
when  Nulma  appeared  and  the  introduction  was 
effected.  Mrs.  Degraves  had  never  hitherto  taken 
any  notice  of  the  Minister  of  Mines,  but  when 
she  saw  the  reception  Lady  Arthur  gave  to  Nulma, 


THE   GOVERNMENT    HOUSE    RECEPTION.      85 

observed  that  the  Chief  Justice  had  been  paying 
her  a  good  deal  of  attention,  and  reflected  that  she 
would  probably  in  time  marry  Mr.  Van  Vechten, 
she  decided  that  it  would  be  a  kindly  thing  to  give 
countenance  to  the  young  girl,  who  was  so  pretty 
and  who  had  no  mother. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


VAN   VECHTEN'S    LOVE. 


If  Caspar  Van  Vechten  had  been  compelled  to 
state  truthfully  why  he  was  so  much  in  love  with 
the  child  Nulma,  he  would  have  found  it  difficult 
to  frame  a  series  of  logical  reasons.  When  had  he 
begun  to  love  her?  It  appeared  to  him  that  he  had 
loved  her  from  the  first  moment  he  had  seen  her, 
a  tall,  sapling-like  girl  in  short  frocks,  whom  he 
had  unexpectedly  come  upon  as  she  stood  wrath- 
fully  facing  her  governess,  her  brown  eyes  flash- 
ing, her  thin  shoulders  held  back,  and  her  burnt- 
looking  hair  standing  out  in  separate  threads,  as 
if  it  were  full  of  electricity.  The  governess  had 
done  something  to  incur  the  girl's  displeasure; 
Mr.  Van  Vechten  never  quite  knew  what,  but 
gleaned  that  it  was  of  a  mean  and  underhand  na- 
ture, meanness  and  underhandedness  being  sins 
held  by  Nulma  in  special  reprobation.  He  sym- 
pathized with  the  child,  for  he  had  conceived  an 
antipathy  to  the  governess — or  perhaps  the  an- 
tipathy came  after  Nulma's  outburst.    Anyhow,  he 

86 


VAN   VECHTEN'S   LOVE  87 

pleaded  to  Nulma's  father,  when  Mr.  Goodeve,  with 
an  heroic  effort  at  discipline,  condemned  his  daugh- 
ter to  the  punishment  of  not  going  for  a  ride  dur- 
ing the  next  four  weeks.  Nulma  had  stormed  and 
wept,  and  had  forced  Mr.  Van  Vechten  to  own 
that  she  had  a  very  hot  temper;  and  later,  when  he 
watched  the  ingenious  methods  by  which  she  con- 
trived to  revenge  herself  upon  the  offending  gov- 
erness, and,  finally,  to  compass  her  dismissal,  he 
realized  that  there  was  in  her  temper  a  con- 
siderable spice  of  vindictiveness,  as  well  as  that 
she  had  a  stubborn  will  which  might  under 
certain  conditions  make  her  a  difficult  person  to 
manage. 

Yet  he  loved  Nulma  all  the  same;  and  he  loved 
her  more  and  more  the  oftener  he  saw  her.  By- 
and-by,  when  she  found  out  that  he  had  begged 
her  off,  and  got  her  sentence  commuted  to  two 
weeks'  abstention  from  horseback  instead  of  four, 
her  impulsive  gratitude  and  pretty  manner  of  show- 
ing it  convinced  him  that,  if  she  was  bad-tempered 
and  vindictive,  she  was  very  warm-hearted,  and  had 
a  power  of  fascination  that  would  make  her,  as  far 
as  men  were  concerned,  a  dangerous  young  woman. 
She  was  then  about  fifteen,  and  from  that  time  she 
had  seemed  to  recognise  in  him  a  friend,  or,  rather, 
as  she  phrased  it,  "  someone  of  the  uncle  sort." 
So  it  came  about  that  she  got  into  the  way  of  call- 
ing him  Uncle  Van,  which  puzzled  people  who  did 
not  know  that  there  was  no  relationship  whatever 


88  NULMA. 

between  them,  and  that  the  title  was  only  a  recog- 
nition of  the  friendly  interest  he  took  in  her,  and  a 
mark  of  respect  to  one  so  many  years  older  than 
herself. 

Van  Vechten  had  an  investment  which  brought 
him  into  rather  close  business  connectionship  with 
James  Goodeve;  and  thus  he  was  often  at  the 
Bunyas,  and  was  one  of  the  very  few  men  whom 
Goodeve  admitted  into  his  home.  The  ostensible 
bond  of  union  between  the  men  was  the  Goodeve 
Consolation  Company;  the  real  one  was  Nulma. 
Nulma  was  the  ruling  motive  of  both  these  men's 
lives,  though  by  Van  Vechten  this  was  only  tacitly 
admitted.  Goodeve  adored  his  daughter,  the  sur- 
vivor of  a  tragedy  which  had  darkened  the  ex-car- 
rier's life;  and  Van  Vechten,  by  the  time  of  Nulma's 
sixteenth  birthday,  had  made  up  his  mind  that  she, 
and  no  other  woman,  should  be  his  wife.  He  had 
told  Lady  Randal  so,  under  the  pressure  of  certain 
proposals  of  the  Governor's  wife;  and  Lady  Randal 
had  told  her  friend,  Caroline  Degraves,  who  in  her 
turn  had  informed  her  mother,  the  President's 
lady. 

So  it  became  pretty  generally  known  in  Leich- 
ardt's  Town  that  Nulma  Goodeve,  the  girl  who 
was  kept  so  rigorously  in  the  background,  and 
never  allowed  by  her  father  to  be  seen  in  Victoria 
Street  without  a  gauze  veil,  was  likely  to  carry  off 
the  most  eligible  bachelor  of  Leichardt's  Land.  To 
be  sure,  there  were  other  eligible  bachelors,  and 


VAN   VECHTEN'S   LOVE.  89 

notably  now  the  Chief  Justice;  but  Van  Vechten 
had  the  reputation  of  being  very  rich,  and  he  had 
a  fine  house,  and  had  been  brought  into  prominence 
by  Lady  Randal's  notice;  whereas  the  Chief  Jus- 
tice was  known  to  have  no  fortune  to  speak  of  be- 
yond his  salary,  and,  moreover,  it  was  already  whis- 
pered that  he  was  devoted  to  Lady  Arthur  Keefe — 
in  due  honour,  be  it  understood,  for,  with  all 
their  love  of  gossip, •  the  Leichardtstonians  were 
an  unsophisticated  community,  and  not  given 
to  evil  interpretations  of  the  conduct  of  their 
betters. 

Caspar  Van  Vechten  had  not  reached  the  age 
of  fifty  without  having  had  a  romance.  Few  un- 
married men  of  those  years  are  bachelors  unless 
there  is  a  woman  for  the  reason.  There  had  been 
a  woman  in  Van  Vechten's  life,  and  the  woman  had 
been  his  divorced  wife.  Thus,  when  he  became 
known  in  Leichardt's  Town,  he  was  not,  strictly 
speaking,  a  bachelor,  though  the  world  believed  him 
so,  and  knew  nothing  of  a  certain  marriage  that 
had  taken  place  over  twenty  years  before  in 
the  State  of  New  York,  and  had  been  there  dis- 
solved. 

It  was  that  divorce  which  had  brought  Van 
Vechten  to  Australia,  and  which  had  been  the  cause 
of  his  aloofness  from  society.  He  was  a  man  with 
decided  views  upon  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage 
bond,  and  though  he  had  divorced  his  wife,  and 
had  been  glad  that  her  position  should  be  legiti- 


9o 


NULMA. 


mized,  he  did  not  hold  the  same  law  of  conduct 
good  for  himself,  and  would  have  thought  it  wrong 
to  marry  again  while  the  woman  who  had  been  his 
wife  was  alive.  This  placed  him  in  a  false  situation. 
Not  choosing  to  take  society  into  his  confidence, 
he  was  doing  society  an  injustice,  and  laying  him- 
self open  to  the  chance  of  having  any  attention 
he  might  pay  to  an  unmarried  woman  miscon- 
strued. He  therefore  avoided  women,  and  made 
himself  happy  among  his  men  friends  in  the  house 
he  had  built,  with  his  horses  and  his  garden  for  his 
chief  interest.  Had  he  been  an  intellectual  or  artis- 
tic person,  he  would  have  collected  books  and  pic- 
tures, and  surrounded  himself  with  bric-a-brac;  but 
he  was  not  intellectual,  and  he  knew  nothing  about 
art.  He  had  worked  too  hard  at  making  money, 
and  he  had  never  been  brought  into  contact  with 
artistic  people.  As  he  grew  richer,  he  interested 
himself  in  an  unostentatious  sort  of  benevolence, 
which  had  been  the  beginning  of  his  short  intimacy 
with  Lady  Randal.  Perhaps  he  would  not  have 
permitted  this  intimacy  had  he  not  received  the 
news  a  little  time  after  his  first  meeting  with  Nulma 
that  his  divorced  wife  was  dead. 

Nulma  was,  as  may  be  supposed,  the  very  an- 
tithesis of  the  woman  he  had  first  loved.  He  told 
himself  that  he  knew  her  in  and  in,  and  that  there 
was  not  one  speck  of  deceit  or  disloyalty  in  her 
nature.  His  wife  had  deceived  him  from  the  very 
first,  and  had  been  grossly  disloyal.     He  told  him- 


VAN   VECHTEN'S   LOVE. 


91 


self  that  he  would  never  trust  his  happiness  a  sec- 
ond time  to  any  woman  old  enough  to  know  her 
world,  or  who  had  been  educated  after  the  fashion 
of  ordinary  girls.  Nulma's  frank  avowals  of  her 
ignorance  were  always  to  him  so  much  in  her  of 
added  charm.  He  did  not  want  a  clever  wife.  He 
wanted  only  Nulma,  the  beautiful,  frank,  wilful, 
ignorant  child,  whom  he  loved  because  she  was — 
Nulma. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  Government  House  re- 
ception, Nulma  was  startled  at  seeing  an  orderly 
ride  round  to  the  front-door,  and  still  more  when 
two  large  square  envelopes  in  thick  cream-laid 
paper,  with  the  red  official  stamp  on  the  flap,  were 
put  into  her  hands. 

"  For  me?  "  she  cried.     "  It  must  be  you,  daddy; 

and   it's  your   invitation   to   the   Ministers'   dinner 

and  the  Birthday  ball."     But,  as  she  turned  over 

the   envelopes,   her   own   name   met   her  on    each. 

'  Miss  Goodeve,  The  Bunyas,'  "  she  read  aloud. 

"  You'd  better  open  them,  Lulu,"  said  Mr. 
Goodeve.  "  You're  a  come-out  young  lady  now, 
remember." 

"  And  invitations  are  always  addressed  to  the 
lady,"  put  in  Mr.  Van  Vechten,  who  was  sitting 
with  them  in  the  veranda.  It  was  Saturday  after- 
noon, and  he  had  a  habit  of  coming  out  on  a  Satur- 
day, to  take  Nulma  for  a  ride,  or  to  talk  business 
and  politics  with  the  Minister  of  Mines,  or  merely 
to  lounge  about  the  veranda  and  garden,  and  stay 
7 


92 


NULMA. 


afterwards  to  dinner.  "  I  think  I  know  what  it  is," 
he  added.  '  I  found  mine  at  home  when  I  looked 
in  on  my  way  out." 

'  There  are  two,"  said  Nulma,  as  she  reverently 
disclosed  two  oblong  bits  of  pasteboard,  which  con- 
veyed the  information  that  the  Governor  requested 
the  honour  of  Mr.  and  Miss  Goodeve's  company, 
in  the  first  place,  to  a  ball  in  celebration  of  her 
Majesty's  birthday  on  that  day  month,  and,  in  the 
second,  to  dinner  on  a  much  earlier  date. 

"  I  never  was  at  a  dinner-party  in  my  life,"  said 
Nulma.  :*  I  don't  know  how  to  behave,  or  what 
to  eat,  or  whether  to  use  my  fork  or  spoon — or  any- 
thing. I  couldn't  go,  daddy.  I  really  couldn't; 
you'd  be  ashamed  of  me." 

'  I'm  bound  to  be  that,  anyhow,  at  the  ball — 
ain't  I,  Lulu?"  James  Goodeve  gave  his  gruff, 
tender  laugh  as  he  looked  at  his  daughter,  his  red 
eyes  dilating  with  pride  and  pleasure.  He  hated 
parties,  and  nothing  short  of  Ministerial  obligations 
would  have  persuaded  him  to  dine  at  Government 
House  alone;  but  that  Nulma  should  be  asked  was 
a  tribute  that  gratified  him  immensely. 

"  Oh,  well,  at  any  rate,  I  can  dance,"  said  Nulma 
frankly. 

"And  you  can  eat,  I  suppose?" 

'  Not  properly.  Besides,  a  ball  is  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  from  going  into  a  dinner-party  with  a 
stranger." 

"  Perhaps  he  won't  be  a  stranger,"  put  in  Mr. 


VAN   VECHTEN'S   LOVE. 


93 


Van  Vechten.  "I'm  asked,  too,  Nulma;  and  it's 
just  possible  they  may  send  you  in  to  dinner  with 
me. 

"  That  would  be  letting  me  off  easier,  Uncle 
Van,"  answered  Nulma,  not  enthusiastically;  "but 
it  would  be  pretty  much  the  same,  wouldn't  it,  as 
if  you  were  having  dinner  with  us  at  home  here, 
except  that  there'd  be  Lady  Arthur  and  the  others 
to  look  at,  and  somebody  else  on  the  other  side 
of  me?  I  don't  mind  so  much  who  that  is  as  long 
as  it  isn't  Victor  Degraves;  I've  got  a  down  on  Vic- 
tor," added  Nulma  in  Australian  vernacular. 

"  What  for,  Lulu?  He's  a  very  fine  young  man, 
and  thinks  no  small-beer  of  himself,  I  can  tell  you," 
said  Mr.  Goodeve. 

Nulma  pursed  up  her  lips  and  shook  her  head. 

"He's  a  mean-spirited  thing!"  she  said;  and 
Van  Vechten  guessed  that  Victor  Degraves  had 
somehow  been  implicated  in  the  affair  of  the  orange- 
peel.  Perhaps  had  egged  on  Malcolm  Derrett,  and 
had  thus  provoked  Nulma's  scorn. 

The  dinner-party  took  place  ten  days  later. 
There  had  been  a  good  deal  of  discussion  at  the 
Bunyas  and  at  Wirrib  on  the  subject  of  Nulma's 
dress,  as  well  as  on  that  of  her  behaviour.  Mrs. 
Perryman,  on  hearing  that  they  were  to  have  carte- 
blanche  at  the  dressmaker's,  had  inclined  to  some- 
thing florid  and  expensive.  She  had  bemoaned" 
the  rigorous  necessity  for  white,  but  wished  that 
the  material,  at  least,  might  be  rich,  and  the  orna- 


94  NULMA. 

mentation  profuse,  with  just  a  touch  of  colour — 
blue  forget-me-nots  or  pink  roses,  in  artificial  blos- 
soms, clotted  about  it.  Luckily,  Mr.  Van  Vechten 
heard  the  suggestion,  and  he  made  his  views  known 
to  Nulma's  father,  who  decreed  that  his  girl  was  to 
be  in  pure  white,  with  no  jangles  nor  spangles  nor 
ornamentation  whatsoever.  Mr.  Goodeve  had  in- 
stinctively a  refined  taste  in  the  matter  of  women's 
appearance  and  behaviour,  which  was  not  so  much 
to  be  wondered  at,  seeing  that  his  dead  wife  had 
been  brought  up  in  a  great  house  in  England,  and 
had  filled  the  situation  of  lady's-maid  to  one  of  the 
daughters  of  the  house.  She  had  been  twenty-five 
when  she  married  James  Goodeve,  the  carrier,  and 
emigrated  to  Australia,  and  she  had  been  a  dainty, 
pleasant-spoken  young  woman,  educated  above  her 
station,  and  a  favourite  with  her  mistress,  who  had 
made  something  of  a  companion  of  her.  Mr.  Good- 
eve, inspired  by  Van  Vechten,  was  beginning  to 
have  doubts  as  to  Mrs.  Perryman's  fitness  for  the 
office  of  Nulma's  chaperon,  and  was  casting  about 
in  his  mind  whether  Mrs.  Degraves  might  not  be 
persuaded  to  undertake  the  duty,  or,  on  occasions, 
Mrs.  Latham.  But  Mrs.  Latham  had  religious 
scruples  about  certain  forms  of  gaiety,  and  could 
not  be  always  relied  upon.  Mrs.  Degraves,  how- 
ever, in  spite  of  her  artistic  tendencies,  was  an  ob- 
'ject  of  social  consideration,  and  held  a  high  place 
in  Leichardt's  Town. 

Mrs.  Perryman  was  faintly  aggrieved  at  her  taste 


VAN   VECHTEN'S   LOVE. 


95 


being  set  aside,  and  more  unreasonably  hurt  be- 
cause she  had  not  been  asked  to  the  dinner.  It 
would  have  been  but  natural,  she  declared,  though 
Mr.  Perryman  was  only  a  head  of  department,  see- 
ing that  she  had  accompanied  Nulma  to  the  recep- 
tion, and  Lady  Arthur  might  thus  have  known  that 
she  was  to  be  considered  as  having  the  girl  more  or 
less  under  her  charge. 

"  I  don't  suppose  that  Lady  Arthur  has  much 
to  do  with  it,"  said  poor  Luce  Perryman  from  her 
sofa.  Luce  was  a  little  thing  with  bright  yellow 
hair,  blue  eyes,  and  a  babyish  freckled  face.  She 
was  considered  pretty,  and  was  a  nice,  unaffected 
creature,  sincerely  anxious  that  Nulma  should  look 
her  best,  and  have  a  good  time,  even  though  she, 
Luce,  might  not  share  it.  "  The  aide-de-camp 
keeps  a  list,"  she  went  on,  "  and  puts  the  names 
down  from  the  visiting-book,  and  settles  it  all — at 
least,  that  was  how  it  used  to  be  in  the  Randals' 
time.  Victor  Degraves  told  me  so,  and  the  Acting 
Governor's  son  ought  to  know." 

"  That  may  be  for  the  balls  and  big  dinners," 
said  Mrs.  Perryman;  "  but  a  dinner-party  with  only 
a  fortnight's  notice — and  asking  a  young  girl  not 
even  properly  come  out!  That  means  something 
particular;  you  may  be  sure  the  aide-de-camp  has 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

'  Mr.  Goodeve  is  a  Minister,  you  know,  mam- 
ma; and  I  suppose  Nulma  is  asked  because  she 
has  no  mother  to  go  instead  of  her." 


g6  NULMA. 

Ministers  take  their  regular  turns  at  the  big 
dinners.  As  if  yon  should  know  more  about  it  than 
your  mother,  Luce!  Do  stop  arguing.  And  about 
your  dress,  Nulma.  I'm  sorry  your  father  and  Mr. 
Van  Vechten  don't  approve  of  what  I  suggested; 
and  I  can't  say  that  I  think  Mr.  Van  Vechten  has 
any  right  to  interfere — now,  at  any  rate.  But  I'll 
do  as  your  father  wishes,  and  go  with  you  to  Miss 
Orr's.  You  are  a  lucky  girl;  and  I  wonder  when 
Luce  will  be  told  that  she  may  get  a  dress  made 
at  Miss  Orr's  and  the  bill  paid  without  a  grumble? 
Not  till  it  comes  to  being  her  wedding-gown,  and 
she's  likely  to  wait  a  good  while  for  that — lying 
here,  with  Mr.  Clayton  charging  a  guinea  each  for 
two  visits  a  week." 

Luce  began  to  cry,  and  to  moan  that  it  wasn't 
her  fault  that  she  had  hurt  her  back  and  cost 
so  much  in  doctor's  fees,  and  Nulma  got  indig- 
nant. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Perryman,  it  is  too  bad  for  you  to 
go  and  make  things  harder  for  poor  Luce!  Per- 
haps when  Dr.  Clayton  sends  in  his  bill  he'll  lump 
the  visits,  and  they  won't  be  a  guinea  each,  after 
all;  and  it's  bad  enough  for  Luce  to  see  me  going 
to  parties  and  getting  dresses  and  things  when  we 
were  to  have  come  out  together,  without  grinding 
it  into  her  worse,  though  I'm  sure  she  needn't  be 
sorry  about  the  dinner,"  Nulma  went  on.  '  You're 
quite  certain  there's  nothing  else,  Mrs.  Perryman? 
I'm  to  mind  and  eat  the  fish  with  my  fork  and  a 


VAN  VECHTEN'S   LOVE. 


97 


bit  of  bread  " — in  those  days  fish-knives  had  not 
reached  Leichardt's  Land — "  and  I'm  not  to  use 
a  knife  to  the  oyster  patties;  and  I'm  to  be  sure 
and  not  take  cheese.  Don't  ladies  ever  eat  cheese 
at  dinner-parties,  Airs.  Perryman?  Luckily,  I  don't 
like  it;  but  it  must  be  hard  on  you,  for  you  do  enjoy 
your  cheese  and  porter  when  you're  at  home." 

"  In  my  young  days,"  said  Mrs.  Perryman — 
"  and  I  was  accustomed  to  lead  a  visiting  life  in 
England,  Nulma — it  would  have  been  considered 
as  indelicate  for  a  young  lady  to  eat  cheese  in  a  low 
dress  as  to  ride  in  a  hansom-cab.  Manners  may 
have  changed,  and  to  look  at  Lady  Arthur  one 
would  suppose  they  had;  but  it's  safer  to  keep  to 
the  old  rules." 

'  Well,  I  think  I  shall  remember  all  that,"  said 
Nulma.  "  And  when  we  get  to  the  door,  I'm  to 
hang  back  and  let  all  the  married  ladies  go  first. 
I  should  have  done  that,  anyhow." 

"  And  if  there's  asparagus,  Nulma,"  continued 
Mrs.  Perryman,  in  conscientious  exhortation, 
"  you'd  better  let  it  pass,  though  it's  a  delicious 
vegetable.  Asparagus  is  awkward  to  manage  with 
one's  fork;  and  though  I  have  seen  ladies  lift  it  up 
by  the  stalk,  I  cannot  think  that  looks  elegant, 
and  there's  always  a  risk  of  spilling  the  butter  on 
one's  dress." 

Nulma  nodded. 

'  I  shall  say  '  No,  thank  you,'  when  the  aspara- 
gus comes  round." 


93 


NULMA. 


"  And  you'll  notice  everything,  Nulma,"  said 
poor  Luce,  "  so  that  you  can  describe  it  to  me  ex- 
actly afterwards." 

Nulma  nodded  again. 

"  And  if  you  can  get  hold  of  a  menu-card,  you'll 
bring  it  back  for  me?"  said  Mrs.  Perryman. 

"  Yes — yes.  And  one  thing  I  do  promise  you, 
Luce:  I  shall  get  hold  of  some  of  the  sweeties  or 
dried  fruits  if  there  are  any,  and  you  shall  have  your 
share  of  the  dinner  to  eat  while  I'm  telling  you  all 
about  it.  You  won't  miss  anything,  for  I'll  remem- 
ber just  how  everyone  is  dressed,  and  how  the  table 
is  fixed,  and  all  that  Lady  Arthur  says.  I  do  wish 
you  could  have  seen  Lady  Arthur." 

"She's  lovely,  isn't  she,  Lulu?" 

"  Lovely  isn't  the  word.  I  can't  describe  her 
any  way;  only  she  seems  to  have  come  out  of  a 
picture.  I'm  sure  I  have  seen  one  like  her.  Yes; 
I  know.  Do  you  remember  Henrietta  Maria  in 
Miss  Strickland's  'Lives'?  Well,  she  has  a  long, 
thin  nose,  and  a  sad,  queer  look  in  her  eyes,  like 
Henrietta  Maria." 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  see  that  Henrietta  Maria  was 
so  very  pretty,"  objected  Luce. 

"  Not  pretty — pretty,  that  is,  like  you,  Luce, 
or  me,  or  Miss  Degraves;  but  with  a  story  in  her 
face.  That's  better  than  being  pretty.  Lady  Ar- 
thur has  a  story  in  her  face." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  observed  Mrs.  Perryman, 
with  asperity — she  had  not  taken  to  Lady  Arthur, 


VAN   VECHTEN'S    LOVE. 


99 


who  she  thought  had  slighted  her — "  I  shouldn't 
care  for  a  daughter  of  mine  to  read  that  kind  of 
story.  Lady  Arthur's  story  is  one  of  flirtations  and 
fast  goings-on,  I  feel  pretty  sure ;  and  I  should  say, 
from  all  I  hear,  that  the  new  Chief  Justice  made 
up  a  long  chapter  of  it." 


CHAPTER  VII. 
nulma's  first  dinner-party. 

Van  Vechten's  hopes  and  half-prophecy  were 
not  realized,  for  Nulma  was  given  to  the  aide-de- 
camp  to  take  in  to  dinner,  and  he,  to  his  annoyance, 
was  entrusted  with  Miss  Degraves. 

Caroline  Degraves  was  a  young  lady  who  was 
usually  spoken  of  as  a  "  pretty  girl,"  though  the 
epithet  was  hardly  appropriate,  either  to  her  style 
of  good  looks  or  to  her  years.  Though  certainly 
a  "  girl  "  in  the  general  sense,  in  Australia,  where 
women  age  rapidly,  she  would  almost  have  been 
classed  as  an  old  maid  had  she  not  managed  to 
retain  an  extremely  youthful  appearance,  and, 
though  nearly  thirty,  did  not  look  more  than  twenty. 
This  was  due,  perhaps,  to  a  knack  she  had  of  put- 
ting on  her  clothes  effectively,  so  that,  as  Mrs. 
Perryman  remarked  with  approbation,  "  she  always 
looked  stylish."  She  was  tall  and  dark,  with  very 
brilliant  eyes,  abundant  hair,  which  she  dressed 
fashionably,  clear-cut,  determined  features,  and  a 
sweet  and  especially  distinct  enunciation,  without 

IOO 


NULMA'S   FIRST   DINNER-PARTY.  ioi 

a  trace  of  the  Australian  drawl.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  was  not  a  genuine  Australian,  having 
come  out  to  Sydney  when  she  was  six  years  old. 

From  the  prominent  position  her  father  occu- 
pied, she  held  her  head  high,  and  none  of  the  offers 
she  had  so  far  received  had  found  favour  in  her 
sight.  These  had  been  mostly  from  squatters,  more 
or  less  well-to-do,  but  not  wealthy  enough  to  as- 
sure her  against  the  roughnesses  of  Bush  life.  She 
had  a  horror  of  being  buried  in  the  Bush,  and  had 
frankly  told  her  last  suitor  that  she  did  not  intend 
her  happiness  to  be  dependent  upon  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  wool  market  or  a  visitation  of  pleuro- 
pneumonia. The  last  suitor  was  a  squatter  from 
the  Northern  district,  who  was  also  a  member  of 
the  Legislative  Assembly.  His  name  was  Justin 
Blaize,  and  he  presented  a  great  contrast  to  Miss 
Degraves,  being  small,  and  red,  and  a  little  rough 
in  his  manners.  But  he  was  of  good  family,  which 
counted  for  a  great  deal  in  the  Degraves'  eyes;  and, 
moreover,  he  was  limply  pertinacious,  and  would 
not  take  "  No  "  for  an  answer,  having  for  the  last 
three  years  renewed  his  addresses  regularly  each 
session.  He,  too,  was  at  the  Government  House 
dinner,  by  the  perversity  of  fate  seated  at  Nulma's 
other  side,  and  opposite  the  object  of  his  affections. 
This  was  not  the  fault  of  Captain  Textor,  the  aide- 
de-camp,  who  had  made  himself  duly  acquainted 
with  the  situation,  and  would  have  liked  to  make 
everybody  happy.     But  Lady  Arthur  had  had  her 


I02  NULMA. 

voice  in  the  arrangement  of  the  guests,  and  had 
insisted  that  they  should  be  thus  disposed,  partly 
out  of  a  whimsical  contrariety,  partly  because  she 
wanted  the  Chief  Justice  beside  herself,  and  a  dif- 
ferent sorting  did  not  well  admit  of  this,  and  partly 
because,  as  she  observed,  she  wanted  to  begin  her 
deal  with  a  fresh  shuffle  of  the  cards. 

Lady  Arthur  had  Mr.  Degraves  on  her  right 
and  the  Chief  Justice  on  her  left  hand.  To  him 
had  been  awarded  the  wife  of  a  prominent  member, 
tlie  leader  of  the  Opposition.  Politics  were  repre- 
sented only  by  this  gentleman,  Mr.  Blaize,  and  the 
Minister  of  Mines,  and  the  party  was  considered  to 
be  quite  unofficial.  Mrs.  Degraves  sat  next  the 
Governor,  the  Opposition  lady  at  his  other  side, 
and  the  rest  in  due  order. 

Nulma  was  not  happy.  A  big  plant  of  maiden- 
hair intervened  between  her  and  Van  Vechten,  upon 
whom  she  had  counted  to  tell  her  whether  she  was 
behaving  properly.  She  had  not  realized  till  then 
what  a  stay  and  support  he  was  in  all  her  difficulties, 
and  reflected  vaguely  amid  the  perplexities  occa- 
sioned by  her  multifarious  wine-glasses,  forks,  and 
an  unintelligible  menu,  that,  on  the  whole,  it  might 
be  a  nice  thing  to  be  safely  married  to  "  Uncle 
Van,"  and  to  have  secured  him  as  a  permanent  pro- 
tector. It  was  at  this  moment  that,  happening  to 
glance  towards  Lady  Arthur,  she  caught  Kenward's 
gaze  fixed  upon  her,  and  derived  the  same  warm 
sense  of  comfort  from  it  as  when  Van  Vechten  did 


NULMA'S   FIRST   DINNER-PARTY.  103 

her  a  kindness  that  specially  pleased  her.  No,  not 
the  same,  for  this  gave  her  a  thrill  of  emotion  quite 
different — an  emotion,  if,  indeed,  the  undefinable 
feeling  could  be  given  so  definite  a  name,  hitherto 
unknown  to  Nulma;  and  she  returned  the  smile, 
and  blushed,  while  her  brown  eyes  shot  a  gleam 
which  made  her  look,  he  thought,  more  beautiful 
than  any  woman  he  had  ever  seen.  There  was  a 
vividness,  a  fearless  and  yet  confiding  innocence, 
an  extraordinary  freshness  and  purity  in  this  girl, 
such  as  he  had  never  in  his  life  beheld  in  any  other 
young  girl.  And  her  colouring — the  brown  eyes, 
the  apricot  bloom,  the  tawny  hair,  and  those  abso- 
lutely childish  red  lips,  parting  to  show  the  gleam 
of  white  teeth — it  was  unequalled.  How  he  would 
like  to  paint  her!  He  glanced  sideways  at  Margot 
Keefe's  long,  narrow  face,  with  its  set  fascinating 
smile  and  its  indescribable  exotic  look,  her  sinuous 
throat  and  dazzlingly  white  and  well-formed  neck 
and  shoulders,  every  curve  and  expression  telling 
of  a  woman  in  the  early  maturity  of  beauty  and 
experienced  charm,  and  mentally  contrasted  her 
with  the  young  girl.  But  Margot  Keefe  was  still 
very  dear  to  him,  and  dearer  because  for  the  last 
week  he  had  seen  little  of  her,  and  had  been  har- 
assed and  perplexed  by  certain  small  difficulties  of 
his  new  position,  which  under  any  other  circum- 
stances he  would  have  brought  to  her,  counting 
upon  her  sympathy  and  solace.  She,  too,  had  been 
a  little  harassed  and  perplexed  by  social  difficulties, 


104  NULMA. 

and  she  had  been  tormented  by  that  new  guilty 
consciousness,  and  by  a  lately-born  terror  of  her 
husband;  Terror  is  not  too  strong  a  word;  she  ex- 
aggerated each  fresh  phase  of  feeling  after  the  man- 
ner of  sensitive,  somewhat  morbidly-inclined  and 
neurotic  women,  so  that  with  her  imagination  swift- 
ly prefigured  the  worst  possible  reality.  Lord  Ar- 
thur had  never  before  presented  himself  to  her 
under  dramatic  conditions,  and  that  suppressed  pas- 
sion in  him,  which  had  shown  itself  again  the  other 
day,  in  spite  of  his  half-promise,  in  another  appeal 
to  her  wifely  tenderness,  and  in  more  hints  of  jeal- 
ousy that  might  spur  him  to  an  undreamed-of  vio- 
lence, filled  her  with  frightened  distrust  of  every- 
thing round  her.  She  suspected  a  spy  in  the  orderly 
who  had  followed  them  upon  the  only  occasion 
when  she  had  ridden  with  the  Chief  Justice,  and  in 
Lord  Arthur's  most  careless  question  found  a  de- 
sire to  entrap  her.  He  had  been  dull  and  morose, 
and  here  she  saw  a  sign  of  vengeance  brooding. 
And  in  the  ten  days  which  had  elapsed  since  that 
last  scene,  she  had  got  to  hate  her  husband  with 
an  intensity  that  seemed  to  deepen  in  proportion 
as  her  intercourse  with  Outram  Kenward  dwindled 
into  a  conventional  interchange  of  civilities,  for  she 
had  been  afraid  to  see  him  alone  in  her  own  sitting- 
room.  The  few  times  when  he  had  called  and  she 
had  been  talking  to  him  in  the  drawing-room,  Lord 
Arthur  had  by  accident  or  design  strolled  in  upon 
them,  and  had  lingered  round,  preventing  any  sort 


NULMA'S   FIRST    DINNER-PARTY.  IQ5 

of  unembarrassed  conversation.  She  was  in  an  odd 
reckless  mood,  and  it  was  when  she  noticed  how 
Kenward  looked  at  Nulma,  and  how  Lord  Arthur's 
eyes  seemed  constantly  bent  towards  her  end  of  the 
table,  that  a  desperate  scheme  dawned  upon  her 
- — a  scheme  for  testing  Kenward's  fidelity,  and  for 
dispelling  any  suspicions  that  might  lurk  in  Lord 
Arthur's  mind.  To  be  sure,  the  scheme  involved 
an  exquisite  self-torture,  but  she  was  in  the  mood 
to  find  a  morbid  pleasure  even  in  torturing  herself. 
She  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Kenward: 

'  That  little  girl  is  quite  astonishingly  pretty. 
The  painters  at  home  would  rave  about  her  colour- 
ing. Doesn't  it  make  you  want  to  get  out  your 
tubes  and  brushes  and  engage  her  as  a  model?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  our  good  friend  the  Minister  of 
Mines,  who  objects  to  her  appearing  unveiled  in 
Victoria  Street,  would  hardly  consent  to  hire  her 
out  at  eighteenpence  an  hour,"  replied  Kenward 
lightly.  "  I  confess,  however,  to  the  temptation; 
but  I  must  drop  all  that  kind  of  dilettantism  now." 

"  You'd  have  been  a  very  good  artist  if  you  had 
had  to  earn  your  living  that  way,"  she  said  in  a  tone 
of  impartial  criticism.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  should 
give  it  up.  The  last  Chief  Justice,  I  learn,  occupied 
his  hours  of  leisure  in  catching  butterflies  for  a  col- 
lection which  they  have  put  in  the  museum.  I  don't 
see  why  you  shouldn't  employ  yours  in  laying  the 
foundation  of  a  Leichardt's   Land  Art  Gallery." 

'  With  your  portrait  as  a  pendant  to  Lady  Ran- 


io6  NULMA. 

dal's,  which  might  be  removed  from  the  waiting- 
room  of  the  Girls'  Industrial  College." 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  don't  mean  to  follow  in 
Lady  Randal's  footsteps.  ,  My  patronage  of  the 
(iirls'  Industrial  College  will  be  purely  nominal. 
I  shall  strike  upon  a  more  original  plan  of  philan- 
thropy. But  seriously,"  she  went  on,  "  I  wish  you 
would  make  a  study  of  Nulma  Goodeve — for  me. 
You  can  present  the  Minister  of  Mines  with  the 
original,  and  do  me  a  replica." 

"  I  think  there  would  be  some  difficulties  in  the 
way,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  I'll  manage  it  for  you;  we'll  ask  her  here 
and  arrange  a  studio.  A  birthday  present  to  the 
father  it  should  be.  I'm  going  to  make  friends 
with  the  child.  Don't  you  think  I  shall  be  improved 
by  companionship  with  such  youthful  innocence?" 

He  looked  at  her  silently,  and  turned  his  head 
away  without  speaking.  Presently  he  said,  during 
a  louder  buzz  round  them: 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  quite  yourself  to-night, 
somehow.  And  how  is  it  that  I  have  seen  nothing 
of  you  for  such  ages?     When  may  I  come?" 

"  Oh,  come  to  luncheon  some  day,"  she  said 
aloud,  smiling  conventionally.  "  I  must  think  what 
we  are  doing.  Will  Tuesday  suit  you?  I'll  ask 
Miss  Goodeve,  and  lay  the  first  stone  of  our  friend- 
ship," she  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  I  would  rather "  he  began;  and  then  there 

was  a  sudden  lull,  and  Mr.  Degraves  turned  inter- 


NULMA'S   FIRST   DINNER-PARTY. 


IO7 


rogatively  to  Lady  Arthur  with  a  view  to  a  fresh 
start  in  eonversation. 

'  Thank  you ;  I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Ken- 
ward,  also  conventionally;  and  he,  too,  applied  him- 
self to  his  legitimate  partner. 

Nulma's  two  neighbours  seemed  slightly  pre- 
occupied. Mr.  Blaize  was  naturally  a  good  deal 
absorbed  in  his  efforts  to  catch  glimpses  of  Miss 
Degraves  through  the  fronds  of  maidenhair,  and  to 
overhear  fragments  of  her  conversation  with  Mr. 
Van  Vechten.  He  was  not  well  up  in  Leichardt's 
Town  gossip,  and  could  never  get  over  an  unrea- 
soning jealousy  of  the  man  whom  it  was  currently 
known  Lady  Randal  had  designed  for  her  friend. 
Then,  he  had  never  met  Nulma  before,  and  though, 
like  everybody  else,  he  was  struck  by  her  beauty, 
he  was  shy,  and  the  young  girl  did  not  help  him 
along. 

Captain  Textor  admired  the  Australian  girl 
enormously  also,  but  was  not  at  liberty  to  indulge 
in  such  admirations  too  freely,  his  heart  being  en- 
gaged in  England.  Moreover,  he  took  his  duties 
as  aide-de-camp  very  seriously,  and  was  all  the  time 
eager  to  glean  information  from  the  talk  around 
which  might  help  him  in  steering  safely  through 
social  quicksands.  Already  there  was  discussion 
about  the  invitations  to  the  Birthday  ball,  many 
people  having  been  left  out  who  at  the  beginning 
of  the  Randals'  reign  were  not  naturally  included 

in  the  list,  but  who  had  risen  in  the  world  since, 

8 


IOS  NULMA. 

and  would  now  be  greatly  aggrieved  were  they  not 
bidden.  Captain  Textor  had  the  matter  terribly 
on  his  mind.  He  was  tall,  thin,  well-bred-looking, 
but  rather  finnikin,  with  a  beautiful  moustache  and 
easy  manners.  He  had  plenty  of  small-talk,  but  it 
was  not  of  the  kind  Nulma  understood,  and  when 
he  discoursed  upon  the  possibilities  of  getting  up 
a  cotillon  at  the  ball,  taking  it  for  granted  that  she 
knew  all  about  cotillons  and  such-like,  she  showed 
her  ignorance  of  the  things  that  be  so  plainly  that 
before  long  his  interest  flagged,  and,  for  all  her 
prettiness,  he  said  to  himself  that  she  was  dull, 
badly  dressed,  and  "  out  of  it." 

In  this  judgment  as  regards  her  dress, he  showed 
himself  to  be  a  commonplace  young  man  of  fash- 
ion, whose  womankind  must  be  attired  according 
to  the  latest  Paris  model,  or,  in  his  sense,  are  not 
dressed  at  all.  Captain  Textor  was  an  authority 
on  women's  gowns,  and  could  tell  one  exactly  how 
much  stuff  would  be  required  for  a  fashionable 
skirt,  and  who  was  the  London  tailor  or  milliner 
who  would  turn  a  lady  out  properly.  Nulma  was 
not  at  all  properly  turned  out,  in  his  estimation. 
The  prohibition  on  "  jangles  and  frippery "  had, 
happily,  crippled  the  exuberance  of  Miss  Orr's 
fancy,  and  had  resulted  in  somewhat  severe  folds 
of  drapery  which,  under  the  circumstances,  was 
the  best  possible  result  that  could  have  been 
achieved.  So,  at  any  rate,  thought  those  better 
judges,  Mr.  Ken  ward  and  Lady  Arthur,  the  first 


NULMA'S   FIRST   DINNER-PARTY. 


109 


with  keen  artistic  satisfaction,  the  last  with  a  pang 
of  envy  and  mortification. 

As  Nulma  sat  silent  or  monosyllabic,  seeing 
clearly  that  she  did  not  come  up  to  Captain  Tex- 
tor's  standard,  and  feeling  a  want  of  sympathy  on 
the  part  of  her  two  neighbours,  she  reflected  that 
she  would  not,  after  all,  have  anything  very  excit- 
ing to  tell  at  Wirrib  about  the  dinner,  and  be- 
thought herself  of  the  menu  for  Mrs.  Perryman, 
which  she  had  no  difficulty  in  abstracting,  and  of 
her  promise  to  take  back  some  sweetmeats  for 
Luce.  There  were  plenty  of  French  bonbons, 
chocolates,  and  other  goodies  on  the  table,  and 
Nulma  heaped  her  plate  liberally  and  nibbled  slowly 
at  one  or  two,  causing  Captain  Textor  to  wonder 
how  she  would  get  through  the  supply  before  Lady 
Arthur's  signal. 

Lady  Arthur  caught  Mrs.  Degraves'  eye  with- 
out any  elaborate  preparation.  Captain  Textor's 
head  was  turned,  and  Nulma  saw  her  opportunity, 
and,  as  she  rose,  swept  the  plateful  of  bonbons  into 
her  handkerchief,  which  she  crumpled  together 
under  her  fan.  She  would  have  made  her  exit  com- 
posedly had  she  not  in  her  nervousness  managed, 
as  she  turned,  to  catch  the  toe  of  one  shoe  on  the 
heel  of  the  other,  so  that  the  shoe  was  hopelessly 
launched  some  distance  under  the  table.  Nulma 
sat  down  again,  and  tried  to  fish  it  out,  but  in  vain, 
and  her  agonized  whisper  across  the  table,  "  Uncle 
Van,  my  shoe!  please  get  it  for  me,"  fell  on  un- 


IIO  NULMA.      • 

heeding-  ears,  for  Mr.  Van  Vechten  was  in  the  act 
of  pushing  back  Miss  Degraves'  chair,  so  that  she 
might  pass  in  the  wake  of  her  mother. 

"  Have  you  dropped  anything?  Can  I  look  for 
you?  Your  fan — your  gloves?  No,  I  see  they're 
all  right,"  said  Captain  Textor,  pushing  back  Nul- 
ma's  chair  also;  and  the  girl,  too  shy  to  confess 
that  she  had  lost  her  shoe,  hobbled  out,  the  last 
of  the  party  of  ladies,  red,  ashamed,  but  keeping 
presence  of  mind  enough  to  thrust  the  handker- 
chief with  Luce's  bonbons  into  her  pocket  before 
she  took  her  seat  close  by  the  door  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

No  one  noticed  her  mishap.  The  first  fire  of 
the  season  had  been  lighted — it  was  the  middle  of 
April — and  the  ladies  were  fluttering  round  it,  and 
Mrs.  Degraves  was  complimenting  Lady  Arthur 
upon  the  way  in  which  she  had  placed  the  sofa  at 
an  angle  with  the  chimney,  and  upon  having  ban- 
ished the  big  central  ottoman  to  a  remote  distance 
from  the  chandelier. 

"  I  wish  I  could  banish  the  chandelier,  too," 
said  Lady  Arthur,  "  though,  I  suppose,  it  is 
high  treason  to  say  so,  if  Lady  Randal  liked  it 
there." 

'  Dear  Lady  Randal !  "  murmured  Mrs.  De- 
graves.  '  We  had  only  one  fault  to  find  with  her. 
She  did  not  understand  how  to  make  a  room  cosy. 
But  I  suppose  the  Queen  can't  utter  treason  against 
herself,    Lady   Arthur;   and   the    Governor    should 


NULMA'S   FIRST    DINNER-PARTY.  m 

be  in  the  same  position  in  Government  House, 
shouldn't  he?  " 

"  But,  then,  I  am  not  the  Governor,"  replied 
Lady  Arthur,  "  though  he  is  good  enough  to  let 
me  have  my  own  way  with  the  chairs  and  tables. 
And  as  to  his  being  a  despot  in  his  own  colony — 
well,  I  wonder  what  the  Ministers  would  say  if  the 
Governor  ordered  the  Botanical  Gardens  to  be  cut 
down  and  replanted,  or  insisted  on  a  domiciliary 
inspection  of  all  the  houses,  and  the  measuring  out 
of  the  water-supply  to  each.  That  was  what  he 
had  to  do  in  Farnesia,  which  is  a  Crown  colony, 
you  know,  when  the  reservoir  threatened  to  dry 
up." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  his  Excellency  will  find  a 
difference  between  a  Crown  colony  and  a  Consti- 
tutional Government,"  said  the  wife  of  the  Leader 
of  the  Opposition,  who  was  a  sharp,  thin-lipped 
lady,  priding  herself  upon  a  tempered  Jacobinism 
as  regards  political  principles.  "  A  Constitution 
does  not  stand  being  interfered  with." 

"  I  am  sure  that  the  Governor  found  that  out 
at  Farnesia,  though  it  was  a  Crown  colony,"  said 
Lady  Arthur,  laughing — "  in  the  personal  sense,  I 
mean.  His  constitution  hasn't  got  over  being  con- 
fined within  a  space  of  eleven  square  miles  and  liv- 
ing according  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  native 
cook.  Oh,  Miss  Goodeve,  you  are  all  out  in  the 
cold.  Won't  you  come  and  drink  your  coffee  near 
the  fire?" 


II2  NULMA. 

The  butler  had  just  come  in  with  the  coffee-pot, 
and  the  footman  had  nearly  brushed  over  Nuhna 
as  she  sat  forlorn,  her  unshod  foot  tucked  well 
under  her  skirt.  She  had  decided  to  take  the  butler 
into  her  confidence,  since  he  looked  like  a  family 
man,  but  was  picturing  her  shoe  handed  across  the 
room  to  her  on  a  silver  salver,  and  wondering  how 
she  could  bear  the  disgrace  if  it  should  happen  be- 
fore the  gentlemen;  and  then  it  flashed  across  her 
that  she  might  write  a  little  note  and  ask  the  butler 
to  deliver  it  to  Van  Vechten,  who  would  find  her 
shoe  and  bring  it  to  her  unobserved. 

"  No;  you  really  mustn't  stop  there  in  the  cold," 
persisted  Lady  Arthur,  and  Nuhna  was  obliged  to 
get  up  and  limp  forward. 

"Why,  you  are  lame!"  cried  Lady  Arthur. 
"  What  has  happened?  " 

"  I  have  lost  my  shoe;  it  fell  off  under  the 
table,"  proclaimed  Nulma,  with  the  boldness  of  des- 
peration, putting  out  a  very  slender  stockinged  foot. 
"Please,  could  it  be  brought  to  me?" 

Miss  Degraves  laughed  a  little  ill-naturedly,  but 
Lady  Arthur  took  the  occurrence  quite  as  a  natural 
thing  to  have  happened  at  a  dinner-party. 

"  Of  course.  Carson,  you  will  have  Miss  Good- 
eve's  shoe  found  as  soon  as  the  gentlemen  have  left 
the  table,  and  bring  it  to  her,  please,  in  the  boudoir. 
My  dear  child,  what  it  is  to  have  a  Cinderella  foot, 
from  which  shoes  drop  off  incontinently!  Do  see 
how  tiny  it  is;  and  Miss  Goodeve  is  taller  even  than 


NULMA'S   FIRST    DINNER-PARTY. 


113 


you  or  I,  Miss  Degraves!  I  am  glad,  anyhow,  that 
we  have  not  to  go  through  the  ordeal  of  trying  on 
the  slipper.  Certainly  none  of  us  would  get  the 
Prince." 

"  Which  is  the  Prince?  "  asked  Miss  Degraves  in 
her  sweet  incisive  voice,  as  she  put  up  her  long- 
handled  eyeglass  and  inspected  Nulma,  who  had 
not  yet  been  introduced  to  her. 

"  Surely  you  must  know  a  great  deal  better  than 
I,"  said  Lady  Arthur,  her  tone  just  suggesting  play- 
ful malice.  "  I  am  a  stranger  in  Leichardt's  Land. 
I  can't  think  of  anyone  answering  to  the  description 
but  Mr.  Van  Vechten.  They  call  him  the  merchant 
Prince  here,  don't  they?" 

Miss  Degraves  was  silenced;  with  a  little  laugh 
she  turned  away. 

"How  do  you  do,  my  dear?"  said  Mrs.  De- 
graves,  holding  out  her  hand  to  Nulma.  ;'  I  did  not 
recognise  you  at  first,  not  expecting  to  meet  you 
at  a  grown-up  party.  It's  your  first,  isn't  it?  and 
you  must  feel  a  little  shy,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Nulma;  "but  I  shan't  mind 
when  I  have  got  back  my  shoe." 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,"  Mrs.  Degraves  went 
on;  "and  tell  me  who  is  going  to  chaperon  you 
at  the  Birthnight  ball?" 

"  No,  no!  "  exclaimed  Lady  Arthur.  "  Poor 
child!  she  shall  not  be  made  to  blush  before  every- 
one when  Carson  retrieves  the  slipper.  Come  into 
the  little  room,  my  dear;  I  want  to  show  you  a  por- 


ii4 


NULMA. 


trait  which  was  made  of  me,  by  a  gentleman  whom 
you  know." 

She  put  her  arm  within  Nulma's,  and  swept  her 
along-  through  a  half-curtained  archway  as  the  gen- 
tlemen's voices  sounded  from  the  hall. 

'  The  men  are  coming  back,  and  you  will  have 
your  shoe  in  a  moment.  Tell  me,  what  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

She  pointed  to  a  kit-cat  portrait  of  herself  in 
oils  which  stood  upon  a  draped  easel  near  the  door- 
way. The  work  had  evidently  been  a  labour  of 
love,  and  Lady  Arthur's  difficult,  somewhat  feline 
kind  of  charm  had  been  happily  caught  and  de- 
picted. Nulma  looked  from  the  portrait  to  the 
original  and  back  again.  Lady  Arthur  seemed 
younger  in  the  picture,  more  tender  and  more  con- 
tented. There  was  something  in  the  painted  smile 
which  the  living  smile  lacked.  Nevertheless,  it  was 
an  admirable  likeness. 

"Well?"  asked  Lady  Arthur. 
'  I  think  it  is  very  beautiful,"  answered  Nulma 
slowly,  "  and  it  is  very  like  you." 

'  It  was  Mr.  Kenward  who  painted  it,  your 
new  Chief  Justice.  We  are  very  old  friends,  and 
he  did  that — oh,  ever  so  long  ago.  Now,  dear 
child,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  why  I  wanted  you  to 
see  it,  and  to  ask  a  favour  of  you  at  the  same 
time." 

"A  favour!"  Nulma  repeated. 

"  It's  this  way.     Mr.  Kenward  has  a  great  de- 


NULMA'S   FIRST    DINNERPARTY.  nj 

sire  to  paint  you.  Of  course  the  picture  would  be 
your  own — to  give  to  your  father  if  you  pleased,  and 
if  he  liked  it;  to  destroy  if  he  did  not  like  it." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  impossible,"  said  Nulma. 
"  But  I  can't  imagine  why  Mr.  Keriward  should 
want  to  paint  me." 

"  Hasn't  anyone  ever  told  you  that  your  colour- 
ing is  just  what  artists  dream  about,  and  hardly  ever 
come  across  in  real  life.  Do  me  an  immense  kind- 
ness— for  with  your  permission  I  am  promised  a 
small  replica — and  allow  Mr.  Kenward  to  make 
your  picture." 

"  Why,  of  course  I  should  be  very  glad,"  an- 
swered Nulma.  '  Why  should  I  not?  It  is  Mr. 
Kenward  and  you,  too,  that  are  doing  me  the  kind- 
ness— and  daddy  as  well.  But  if  I  give  dad  the  pic- 
ture, there  will  be  nothing  for  Mr.  Kenward  to 
make  up  to  him  for  his  trouble." 

Lady  Arthur  did  not  answer.  She  was  looking 
at  Nulma  in  a  way  that  puzzled  and  rather  embar- 
rassed the  young  girl.     Suddenly  she  said: 

"  Do  you  know,  child,  that  you  ought  to  be  one 
of  the  very  happiest  creatures  on  earth.  You  are 
young;  you  are  beautiful;  you  are  utterly  free. 
Your  whole  life  is  before  you  to  do  what  you  choose 
with.  I  envy  you;  you  have  got  what  I  never  had 
— never,  never." 

"  Oh,  Lady  Arthur,  how  is  it  possible  that  I 
can  be  as  beautiful  as  you  are!  And  what  is  my 
life   in   comparison   with  yours!      It   seems   to   me 


II(3  NULMA. 

thai   you  have  everything1,  and  I  nothing-.     How 
can  it  be  that  yon  envy  me?" 

All  Nulma's  shyness  went  away  as  she  replied, 
with  eager,  surprised  eyes  fastened  upon  Lady  Ar- 
thur's face.  A  genuine  ring  of  passion  and  regret 
in  the  elder  woman's  voice  stirred  the  girl  intensely. 
It  seemed  an  echoing  note  from  that  far  world  of 
romance  about  which  she  was  always,  more  or  less 
consciously,  dreaming. 

"  You  will  understand  that  better  when  you  are 
as  old  as  I  am,"  returned  Lady  Arthur  with  a  laugh. 
"  Here  is  Carson  with  your  shoe." 

The  butler  entered  by  an  inner  door,  bearing 
Nulma's  shoe,  as  she  had  pictured  it,  upon  a  silver 
salver,  which  he  discreetly  shaded  with  his  other 

arm. 

"There;  now  you  are  quite  respectable  again; 
and  you  have  a  very  pretty  foot,  and  need  not  have 
been  ashamed  to  exhibit  it.  I  am  going  to  tell  Mr. 
Kenward  that  he  can  come  and  fix  a  day  for  the 
first  sitting ;  and  I  shall  ask  your  father  if  he  will  let 
you  lunch  with  me  next  Tuesday.    Will  you  come?  " 

Nulma  accepted  the  invitation,  partly  flattered, 
partly  jarred  by  a  certain  note  of  patronage  in  Lady 
Arthur's  manner,  and  at  the  moment  peculiarly 
sensible  of  that  vague  mingling  of  antipathy  and 
fascination  which  Lady  Arthur  had  from  the  first 
produced  in  her.  She  was  standing  bewilderedly 
before  the  picture  when  Kenward,  entering  from 
the  larger  room,  approached  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CONFIDENCES. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  good  enough?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Good  enough?  " 

"  Why,  to  have  the  honour  of  painting  your  por- 
trait? Lady  Arthur  tells  me  that  you  consent. 
Thank  you  immensely." 

"  If  your  picture  of  me  is  only  a  quarter  as 
splendid  as  this  one,  I  shall  be  thanking  you  all 
the  time  instead,"  said  Nulma  bluntly.  "  I  won- 
der  "  she  stopped. 

'What  was  it  you  were  going  to  say?" 

"  Oh,  a  stupid  thing — I  was  only  wondering 
why  you  should  make  so  much  fuss  about  doing 
my  picture." 

'  I  think  I  shall  leave  Lady  Arthur  to  explain 
that,"  he  answered.  "  Perhaps  she  has  already  told 
'  you  why  I  am  so  anxious  to  make  a  sketch  of  you. 
Has  she?" 

'  Lady  Arthur  said  that  you  wanted  to  paint 
me  because — oh,  well,  because  you  thought  my 
colouring  out  of  the  common,"  said  Nulma  with  un- 

117 


IlS  NULMA. 

blushing  candour.  '  But  there  must  be  so  many 
girls  in  England  ever  so  much  better  to  paint  than 
1  am." 

"  Only  we  are  not  in  England,  you  see.     And 

so,"  he  went  on,  "  admiration  is  no  novelty  to  you." 

There  was  a  shade  of  disappointment  in  his  tone. 

'  No  doubt  you  have  often  been  told  that  you  are 

—excuse  my  putting  it  bluntly — very  lovely." 

Nulma  seemed  to  reflect. 

'  No,  not  often;  hardly  at  all.  Without  count- 
ing Lady  Arthur  this  evening,  I  don't  think  any- 
one ever  in  the  world  told  me  so — except  Uncle 
Van." 

"Uncle  Van!" 

"  I  mean  Mr.  Van  Vechten." 

"  Oh!  You  seem,  anyhow,  to  have  given  him 
the  right  of  plain  speaking.  But — Mr.  Van  Vech- 
ten is  no  relation  to  you.  Why  do  you  call  him 
Uncle  Van?" 

;<  I  don't  know.  Of  course  he's  no  relation;  but 
he's  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world." 

"  Miss  Goodeve,  would  it  be  a  great  imperti- 
nence if  I  were  to  ask  if  you  are  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Van  Vechten?" 

'  He  won't  give  me  the  chance,"  said  Nulma. 
"  He  thinks  I  am  too  young  yet  to  know  my  own 
mind." 

'  That  is  very  considerate  of  him.  But  no  doubt 
before  very  long  he  will  put  the  question  seriously." 

"  No,"  replied  Nulma.     "  I  am  quite  sure  that 


CONFIDENCES. 


II9 


he  will  never  ask  me.  I  am  to  ask  him  instead. 
He  is  willing  to  marry  me  whenever  I  tell  him  that 
is  what  I  wish.    It  is  very  devoted  of  him." 

"  Oh,  the  devotion! — that's  easily  taken  for 
granted.  Well,  I  suppose  one  should  admit  that 
the  distinction  is  a  magnanimous  one." 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  about  Uncle  Van,"  said  Nul- 
ma,  turning  away  from  the  picture.  "  There  are 
so  many  other  things." 

Kenward  gave  a  short  laugh.  He  found  some- 
thing rather  humorous  in  the  situation;  and  the 
thought  glanced  across  his  mind  that  a  man  very 
much  in  love  with  Nulma  need  not  entertain  any 
jealous  animosity  towards  Mr.  Van  Vechten.  He 
pushed  forward  a  low  chair  which  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  the  door-curtain  and  of  a  tree-fern  in  a 
green  tub. 

"Won't  you  sit  here?" 

Nulma  sat  down  without  hesitation.  She  did 
not  make  the  conventional  objection  that  she  was 
staying  too  long  away  from  the  rest  of  the  party; 
and  of  this  he  was  glad,  though,  to  be  sure,  it  was 
not  to  be  expected  that  the  owner  of  that  face  would 
put  forth  those  commonplace  airs  and  affectations 
which  seem  natural  to  the  ordinary  newly-fledged 
miss.  As  for  Nulma,  the  fortunate  recovery  of  her 
shoe  had  quite  relieved  her  from  social  embarrass- 
ments; she  was  perfectly  happy  talking  to  the  Chief 
Justice,  and  did  not  trouble  herself  at  all  as  to  what 
the  people  in  the  next  room  might  be  thinking  of 


120  NULMA. 

her.  The  babble  of  their  talk  floated  in  through 
the  half-drawn  curtains,  and  now  and  then  words, 
phrases,  and  tones  detached  themselves  from  the 
general  confusion  of  sound.  Through  all  Kenward 
was  conscious  of  the  hovering  presence  of  Lady 
Arthur,  and  of  frequent  darting  glances  in  his  di- 
rection from  between  her  narrowed  lids,  as  she  con- 
versed painstakingly  with  the  Leader  of  the  Op- 
position, and  did  her  duty  by  the  ladies  neglected 
of  mankind.  Somehow  she  seemed  to  contrive  that 
her  position  should  command  that  of  Nulma  and 
Kenward,  and  it  was  with  a  vague  instinct  of  es- 
cape that  he  had  put  Nulma  in  the  chair  behind 
the  tree-fern,  and  now  placed  himself  near  her,  also 
in  shadow. 

'  I  quite  agree  with  you,''  he  said,  "  that  there 
are  things  and  people  in  the  world  more  interest- 
ing than  your  friend  Mr.  Van  Vechten.  Let  us  talk 
about  one  of  them  instead— as  you  suggest." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  cried  the  girl,  smitten 
with  compunction.  '  There's  no  one  anywhere  so 
good  as  Uncle  Van." 

'  Very  likely.  But  some  good  people  are  more 
attractive  as  subjects  of  conversation  than  other 
good  people,  though,  as  far  as  moral  worth  goes, 
they  may  be  equal.  For  example,  Miss  Goodeve, 
I  should  be  more  interested  in  talking  to  you  of 
yourself  than  of  Mr.  Van  Vechten.  And  there's 
a  question  I  am  longing  to  ask  you,  if  you  don't 
mind." 


CONFIDENCES.  I  2 1 

"  I  shan't  mind.    What  is  it?  " 

'  Where  did  you  get  your  pretty,  uncommon 
name — Nulma?  It  sounds  Eastern.  Nulma,  Nour- 
mahal — I  could  think  of  others  like  it.  But  I've 
never  heard  yours  before.  Please  tell  me  about 
your  name." 

"  It's  the  Blacks'  word  for  a  snake,"  she  an- 
swered; "and  I  was  called  Nulma  because  of  a  ter- 
ribly sad  thing  which  happened  when  I  was  a  tiny 
baby." 

"  May  I  hear,  or  would  it  be  too  painful?" 

"  Oh  no;  I  was  only  a  few  days  old.  Of  course, 
I  can't  feel  about  it  as  daddy  does.  It's  because  of 
that  I've  no  mother,  and  no  brother  nor  sister. 
They  all  died  then." 

:' Mother,  brother,  and  sister,"  he  repeated; 
"  they  could  not  all  have  been  killed  by  a  snake- 
bite.   How  can  that  be?" 

"  My  baby  brother  and  sister  died  from  the  bite 
of  a  snake.  I'll  tell  you."  Nulma  folded  her  hands 
with  the  responsible  air  of  one  about  to  make  a 
narration,  and  he  leaned  a  little  closer  to  her.  "  You 
have  never  been  out  West,"  she  said.  "  Of  course 
not  yet.  But  perhaps  you  will  go  some  day,  and 
then  you'll  see  the  great,  great  plains,  and  the  briga- 
low  scrubs,  and  the  carriers'  drays.  Daddy  was  a 
carrier  out  West  before  he  found  the  Goodeve  Con- 
solation Reef  and  got  rich.  He  was  only  a  working 
man,  you  know." 

"  No,  I  did  not  know." 


I22  NULMA. 

"  We  don't  mind  in  the  least,"  said  Nulma, 
with  a  little  drawing  hack  of  her  hody  which 
amused  him,  as  betraying  her  secret  thought ; 
"  though  I  have  no  doubt  the  Degraves  and  other 
people  look  down  upon  us  for  it." 

'  Isn't  that  an  unwarranted  assumption,  rather?" 

"  Well,  we  can't  all  be  English,  and — like  Lady 
Arthur  Keefe,"   Nulma  exclaimed. 

'  No,  of  course;  there's  no  reason  why  you 
should;  and,  besides,  you  are  much  better  as  you 
are." 

"  Oh,  no,  no!  I'd  like  to  be  like  that.  Mr.  Ken- 
ward,  I  wasn't  telling  the  truth,"  she  cried  in  a 
burst  of  candour.  "  I  do  mind.  It's  mean  of  me  to 
pretend  that  I  don't.  Not  the  being  a  carrier's 
daughter;  and  if  daddy  could  be  changed  into  a 
great  English  lord  to-morrow,  I  would  not  have 
it  done.  I  wouldn't  have  him  a  bit  different.  But  I 
do  mind  being  outside  all  the  things  that  are  Eng- 
lish and  beautiful  and  refined.  Though  '  plenty 
poor  cobra  belonging  to  me,'  as  the  Blacks  say;" 
and  she  touched  her  forehead  with  a  laugh,  "  and 
though  I  am  dreadfully  badly  educated,  I  do  read 
about  those  English  sort  of  things." 

"Ah,  in  novels,  I  suppose?" 
'  Yes.  Though  dad  doesn't  much  care  about 
my  reading  novels,  or  Uncle  Van  either;  but  Luce 
Perryman  lends  them  to  me.  Her  mother  sub- 
scribes to  the  library  in  Victoria  Street.  Oh,  I'd 
give  anything  to  go  to  England,  so  that  I  might 


CONFIDENCES. 


123 


see  the  places  they  describe!  And  I'm  always  wish- 
ing that  I  could  meet  the  people  in  real  life,  the 
people  who  belong  to  books." 

"  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  recognize  them,"  said 
Kenward  dryly;  "  or  if  you  did,  you  wouldn't 
find  them  as  delightful  as  you  imagine  them  to 
be." 

'  Yes,  I  should.  I  recognised  Lady  Arthur. 
She  comes  out  of  a  book " 

"And  you  find  her  delightful?" 

Nulma  hesitated. 

"  I  don't  know.  She  is  strange — she  is  very 
kind.  She  says  things  that  no  one  else  ever  said; 
she  is  just  a  bit  of  that  world  to  which  I  don't  be- 
long.   Can  you  understand?  " 

'  Yes,  I  think  I  understand.  But  you  exagger- 
ate the  importance  of  that  world,  and  your  own 
position  towards  it." 

"  Well,  never  mind." 

'  Yes ;  never  mind.  Now,  tell  me  more  of  those 
early  days;  I  can't  describe  to  you  how  deeply  it 
all  interests  me." 

'  Well,"  she  began  again,  "  daddy  was  a  car- 
rier. He  used  to  carry  wool  from  the  stations  to 
Port  Victoria,  and  take  back  rations.  Often  he 
would  be  weeks  on  the  road — sometimes  stopped 
for  days  in  one  place.  There  would  be  floods,  or 
the  bullocks  would  knock  up,  and  he'd  have  to  spell 
them  a  bit.  There  was  no  other  house  for  us  but 
the  bullock  dray.  Mr.  Kenward,  I  was  born  under 
9 


I24 


NILMA. 


a  bullock  dray;"  and  she  gave  him  one  of  her 
quick,  deerlike  looks. 

"  Were  you,  really?  That  is  very  curious.  Go 
on,  Miss  Nulma." 

"  I  don't  remember  living  on  the  bullock  dray 
myself;  but  I've  seen  them  out  West,  when  I  was 
eight  or  nine,  coming  in — whole  strings  of  them. 
Such  huge  things,  loaded  ever  so  high  with  bales 
of  wool,  quite  flat  on  the  top,  with  a  sort  of  tilt, 
and  a  mattress  laid  under  it,  where  the  wife  and 
children  would  sit.  They  would  have  a  ladder  to 
go  up  and  down  by.  Often  there  would  be  two 
or  three  goats  behind  the  dray,  to  give  milk  for  the 
babies.  At  night,  when  they  camped,  the  mattresses 
would  be  brought  down  and  laid  under  the  dray, 
and  that's  where  the  family  would  sleep." 

Kenward  looked  at  this  very  child  of  Nature 
wondering,  as  he  pictured  her  cradled  in  a  bullock 
dray,  her  babyhood  passed  on  the  top  of  the  wool- 
bales,  with  only  a  sheet  of  canvas  to  shut  out  the 
high  heavens.  He  felt  an  odd  glow  of  pleasure  in 
the  fact  that  she  was — as  she  was.  Nulma  went 
on,  encouraged  by  the  eagerness  in  his  eyes: 

"  We  were  camping  at  a  place  where  there  was 
a  waterhole,  spelling  the  bullocks,  and  waiting  for 
my  mother  to  get  strong.  I  was  just  the  tiniest 
thing  then,  you  know.  Daddy  fixed  the  mattress 
on  the  ground  under  the  dray,  and  spread  blankets 
at  one  end  for  the  other  little  boy  and  girl.  He 
has  told  me  all  about  it,  poor  dad !    My  mother  must 


CONFIDENCES.  1 25 

have  been  a  very  nice  woman,  Mr.  Kenward,  I've 
often  thought,  for  him  to  be  so  devoted  to  her 
memory." 

"  I  am  quite  certain  she  must  have  been  that," 
said  the  Chief  Justice  decidedly. 

"  The  first  night  daddy  and  mother  were  wak- 
ened up  by  a  sort  of  cry  from  the  little  boy.  Daddy 
went  to  take  it  up,  they  cuddled  it,  and  the  little 
fellow  got  quite  quiet  and  drowsy,  and  very  soon 
died.  Did  you  know,  Mr.  Kenward,  that  a  snake's 
bite  gives  you  an  electric-shock  sort  of  pain — just 
for  a  minute?  " 

"  No;  I  had  never  heard." 

"  Yes.     Daddy  was  bitten  once,  he  told  me." 

"  A  snake  had  bitten  the  poor  little  chap?"  said 
Kenward. 

"Yes;  but  they  did  not  know  it  then.  They 
saw  nothing — never  thought  of  its  being  a  snake. 
Daddy  said  they  fancied  he  had  eaten  some  poison- 
ous berries  that  grew  about  there.  Well,  next  night 
exactly  the  same  thing  happened,  and  the  little  girl 
died.  Then,  as  daddy  moved  the  blankets,  he  saw 
a  black  snake,  and  he  found  that  he  had  laid  the 
children  to  sleep  exactly  over  a  snake's  hole." 

"Good  God!"  ejaculated  Kenward.  "And 
your  poor  mother?" 

'  Mother  went  quite  out  of  her  mind,  daddy 
said.  She  got  queer  fancies — all  about  snakes,  fairy 
stories  she  had  read,  and  Blacks'  superstitions 
mixed  up.     Did   I   tell  you  we  had  a   half-caste 


126  NULMA. 

woman,  with  a  picaninny,  for  a  sort  of  nurse?  Dad 
saved  her  from  the  camp  when  they  were  going  to 
knock  her  over  the  head  with  a  nulla-nulla.  She 
used  to  talk  Blacks'  language  to  the  children. 
Daddy  told  me  mother  kept  repeating  things  she 
had  heard  the  gin  say,  and  she  would  point  to 
me,  and  call  out,  '  Nulma,  Nulma! '  She  made  dad 
get  a  Prayer-Book  and  a  billyful  of  water,  and 
christen  me  himself — out  there  in  the  Bush.  She 
had  a  superstitious  notion  that  if  I  was  called  Nul- 
ma snakes  would  not  touch  me.  And  it  preyed 
upon  her  that  the  hahy-girl  had  died  unbaptized; 
that's  how  it  is." 

Nulma  stopped. 

"And  your  mother  died?"  said  Kenward. 
'Yes;  on  the  top  of  the  bullock  dray.  She 
would  insist  on  being  lifted  up  there;  and  that's 
where  she  died,  lying  on  the  wool-bales.  She's 
buried  in  the  Bush  with  the  two  children.  Dad 
had  the  place  railed  in,  and  a  stone  put.  I  was 
christened  properly  after  that — at  Mr.  Latham's 
station.  He  was  my  godfather,  and  Mrs.  Latham 
and  the  storekeeper's  wife  were  my  two  godmoth- 
ers. Of  course,  dad  had  to  keep  the  name  my 
mother  chose;  and  so  I  am  Nulma.  After  all,  it  is 
not  an  ugly  name,  is  it,  Mr.  Kenward?" 

"  I  think  it  is  a  beautiful  name,"  he  answered. 

"  But  I  wish  it  didn't  mean  just  what  it  does. 
A  snake — horrible!  How  I  loathe  the  sight  of  a 
snake!     Try  to  forget  that  'Nulma'  means  that, 


CONFIDENCES. 


127 


or  you'll  be  associating  me  always  with  something 
horrible." 

"  I'll  remember  always  that  '  Nulma '  means — 
you,"  said  Kenward;  "and  then  the  word  can  only 
bring  me  a  most  sweet  and  poetic  association." 

"  But  you  can't  associate  me  with  myself,"  said 
the  girl,  laughing;  "  that  would  be  nonsense.  Think 
of  something  Australian  and  poetic,  and  imagine 
that  it  is  called  Nulma." 

Kenward  got  up,  looked  round  the  room,  and 
seemed  to  consider.  Nulma  watched  him  with  a 
certain  child-like  curiosity  and  pleasure.  He  took 
a  bit  of  stephanotis  out  of  a  vase  and  examined  it, 
then  put  it  back  again. 

'  Too  exotic  and  suggestive,"  he  murmured. 
"Ah,  I  have  it!"  He  turned  to  Nulma.  "When 
does  your  own  wattle  come  into  bloom?" 

"  At  the  end  of  August  or  beginning  of  Sep- 
tember.    Ever  so  long  yet." 

Kenward  attacked  another  vase,  in  which  was 
an  abnormal  second  bloom — a  trailing  bough  of 
Banksia  roses.  He  broke  off  a  spray  of  half-opened 
buds. 

"  I  think  this  will  do — for  the  present.  It  is 
sweet,  and  if  not  pure  Australian,  it  is,  anyhow, 
poetic.  Miss  Nulma,  in  August,  with  your  permis- 
sion, I  will  solemnly  rechristen  the  wattle,  which  I 
shall  henceforth  regard  as  emblematic  of  you.  In 
the  meantime,  allow  me  to  offer  you  this  as  the  near- 
est thing  suitable." 


128  NULMA. 

She  took  the  spray  of  roses,  twisted  it,  smelt 
it,  and  stuck  it  into  the  belt  of  her  frock. 

'  How  clever  of  you !  I  always  call  the  wattle 
my  flower,  for  I  generally  gather  the  first  bit  that's 
out  on  my  birthday— the  eighteenth  of  August.  I 
shall  be  eighteen  on  the  eighteenth  of  August." 

'The  eighteenth  of  August;  I  shall  not  for- 
get." 

'  How  did  you  come  to  know  anything  about 
our  wattle?  "  she  asked. 

'  They  call  it  mimosa  on  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,"  he  answered.  "  But  it's  genuine 
Australian,  for  all  that." 

He  became  aware  of  a  flutter  of  departure  in  the 
next  room.  Mrs.  Degraves  was  saying  good-night, 
and  Lady  Arthur  was  now  standing  near  the  cur- 
tains; so  was  Mr.  Van  Vechten.  Just  then  Mr. 
Goodeve's  burly  form  approached. 

"  Girlie,"  he  said,  "  we've  got  to  be  going."  The 
portrait  attracted  him  as  he  spoke.  "  That's  good!  " 
he  exclaimed;  "it's  uncommonly  like." 

Nulma  burst  into  a  laugh. 

'  Dad,  would  you  care  to  have  a  portrait  of  me 
painted  by  the  person  who  painted  that?" 

'  Why,  yes,"  said  James  Goodeve;  "  I  shouldn't 
mind,  if  the  price  was  any  way  reasonable.  I  sup- 
pose it's  by  one  of  the  swell  chaps  in  England?" 

He  turned  to  Kenward. 

"Oh  no,"  said  Kenward;  "quite  an  unknown 
artist — an  amateur  of  no  pretensions  whatever." 


CONFIDENCES. 


I29 


'  Well,"  said  Goodeve,  peering  into  the  pic- 
ture, "  I  don't  call  myself  a  judge  of  paintings,  see- 
ing that  I've  had  no  opportunity  of  studying  them 
— it  isn't  likely  I  should  be;  but  I  know  a  good 
likeness,  and  I  will  say  that's  the  very  image  of 
Lady  Arthur.  A  little  flattering,  eh?" — in  an  un- 
dertone— "  but  I  dare  say  she  was  younger  when 
that  was  done.     What's  the  mischief,  missie?" 

"  Nothing,  dad."  Nulma  stifled  another  laugh. 
"  Come  along;  I'm  ready." 

Kenward  fell  back.  James  Goodeve  held  out 
his  red  hand  to  his  hostess,  who  had  come  near  the 
group. 

'  We'll  say  good-night,  Lady  Arthur,  and — 
I've  had  a  very  pleasant  evening.  Thank  you  for 
being  kind  to  my  girl  here." 

"  I'm  so  glad,  Mr.  Goodeve.  You  won't  forget 
that  you've  promised  your  daughter  to  me  for  next 
Tuesday.  I'm  delighted  that  you  like  my  portrait. 
I  think  the  Governor's  over  there  talking  to  Mr. 
Degraves  and  my  husband." 

Captain  Textor,  who  had  been  hovering  round, 
opening  doors  and  conducting  ladies  to  their  wraps, 
made  a  movement  to  pilot  them  towards  the  Gov- 
ernor, who  came  forward  as  they  approached. 
Nulma  felt  a  little  frightened  of  Colonel  Burnside, 
who  looked  stiff,  old  and  unapproachable.  His  se- 
vere courtesy  awed  her.  In  her  nervousness  she 
forgot  Luce's  bonbons,  fumbled  for  her  gloves, 
pulled    out    her    pocket-handkerchief,    and    started 


130 


NULMA. 


back  with  a  cry  of  dismay — as  the  fondants  and 
chocolates  rained  upon  the  carpet.  The  Governor 
peered  down  through  his  eyeglass,  Captain  Textor 
stooped  and  picked  up  the  gloves,  but  left  the  bon- 
bons, and  Nulma,  first  pink,  then  pale,  in  her  con- 
fusion, as  unconsciously  she  turned  an  appealing 
glance  to  her  saviour,  Van  Vechten,  met  Kenward's 
amused  eyes,  and  shrank  as  if  a  blow  had  been  dealt 
her.  She  did  not  mind  the  others  so  much,  but 
that  he  should  laugh  at  her — should  look  upon  her 
as  a  greedy  schoolgirl,  discovered  in  a  vulgar  theft 
upon  the  dinner-table!  Her  lips  trembled.  She 
looked  as  though  she  were  going  to  burst  into  tears. 

4  Why,  girlie,"  said  her  father,  "  you  shouldn't 
steal  the  lollies,  you  know.  Mrs.  Perryman  will 
call  that  pretty  manners.  She  is  only  a  baby,  your 
Excellency,  and  babies  can't  resist  lollipops." 

'  They  weren't  for  myself,"  cried  Nulma.  "  Oh, 
don't  think  that  I  should  do  it  for  myself;  but  I 
promised  poor  Luce.  She  has  hurt  her  back,  and 
she  can't  come  out  now  at  the  May  ball,  and  she 
does  so  like  chocolate  creams,  and  I  said  I  would 
bring  her  some  from  my  first  dinner-party.  It's 
so  hard  for  Luce  to  be  lying  there,  seeing  me 
dressed  up  and  having  fun,  and  to  get  nothing  her- 
self." 

"  Luce,"  said  the  Governor,  a  little  perplexed 
by  the  whole  scene.  "  Your  sister,  Miss  Goodeve, 
who  has  had  an  accident?     I  am  sincerely  sorry." 

"  Not  her  sister,  your  Excellency.     Little  Luce 


CONFIDENCES.  13I 

Perryman — daughter  of  our  neighbour,  Perryman, 
of  the  Alines  Department — a  great  friend  of  my 
girlie's,"  said  James  Goodeve.  "  Never  mind  the 
lollipops,  Nulma.  His  Excellency  will  excuse  you, 
I'm  certain.    So  say  good-night." 

'  Your  kind  thought  for  your  sick  friend  does 
you  infinite  credit,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  the 
Governor,  bowing  over  Nulma's  hand  with  stately 
courtesy.  ;'  Pray  give  her  my  compliments,  and 
tell  her  how  much  I  regret  her  accident;  and  you 
must  take  her  some  chocolate-creams  from  me. 
Textor,  you'll  see  about  it." 

"  Certainly,  sir."  And  Captain  Textor  rang  the 
bell,  and  offered  Nulma  his  arm;  and  Lady  Arthur 
came  up  and  laughed  kindly,  and  sent  her  regards 
to  sick  Luce,  and  they  all  covered  poor  Nulma's 
retreat  in  the  kindest  way  possible,  Captain  Textor 
at  the  last  moment  rushing  down  the  steps  to  lay 
a  little  beribboned  box  by  Nulma's  side  in  the 
jingle  which  was  to  take  the  father  and  daughter 
back  to  the  Bunyas. 

'  With  the  Governor's  compliments — straight 
from  Paris,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  Good-night,  Miss 
Goodeve." 

'  Well,  Nulma,  so  you've  gone  and  done  it 
now,"  said  James  Goodeve,  with  his  gruff,  tender 
laugh.  "  No;  it's  quite  clear  that  my  girl  must 
have  her  manners  polished  a  little  better  before  she 
goes  to  another  dinner-party  at  Government 
House." 


I32  NULMA. 

"  Oh,  dad,  it  was  dreadful!  First  I  lost  my  shoe 
under  the  table,  and  the  butler  brought  it  in  on  a 
silver  tray.  Then  to  drop  Luce's  sweets  on  the 
floor,  and  be  found  out  like  that!  How  shall  I  ever 
face  them  again?  " 

James  Goodeve  roared  with  laughter. 
'  Lost  her  shoe,  did  she,  poor  little  Lulu?     I 
hadn't  heard  of  that.     And  it  was  brought  in  on  a 
silver   salver.      Oh!  what    am    I    to    do    with    this 
girlie?" 

"  I  don't  know,  dad." 

'  Have  her  taught  manners,  eh?  The  worst 
of  it  is  that  I  ain't  a  particularly  smart  hand  at 
manners  myself;  and  if  I  was  to  be  put  on  my  oath, 
Lulu,  I  wouldn't  swear  that  I  hadn't  disgraced  my- 
self, too,  at  this  very  dinner-party.  The  queer 
dishes  bothered  me,  and  the  flunkeys  and  wines, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  dashed  show.  I  tell  you  what 
it  is,  Lulu:  though  I've  been  in  training  for  exhibi- 
tion these  last  six  or  seven  years,  I  believe  I'd  be 
more  at  home  now  over  a  billy  of  tea  and  a  damper 
by  the  camp-fire  than  I  am  at  this  kind  of  flash 
set-out.  I'm  out  of  it,  in  the  manners  line,  any- 
how; and  all  Mrs.  Perryman's  lectures  don't  seem 
to  have  come  to  much." 

"  No,  dad." 

Nulma  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  and  James 
Goodeve  fumbled  about  in  the  inner  pocket  of  his 
overcoat,  and  at  last  produced  a  brown  pipe  and 
indiarubber  pouch,  carefully  wrapped  up  in  a  red 


CONFIDENCES. 


133 


silk  pocket-handkerchief,  so  that  no  odour  of  strong 
tobacco  should  pollute  his  evening-suit.  He  filled 
his  pipe,  lighted  it,  and  began  to  smoke,  rolling 
up  the  leather  curtain  on  one  side  of  the  jingle, 
thus  allowing  the  fumes  to  escape  into  the  night. 
They  were  a  good  way  beyond  the  Government 
House  gates.  The  driver  of  the  jingle  whipped  on 
his  horse,  and  the  clumsy  vehicle  clattered  down 
Victoria  Street,  its  noise  drowning  the  little  disap- 
pointed sigh  Nulma  heaved,  as  she  leaned  side- 
ways against  the  iron  supports  of  the  canopy,  and 
gave  herself  up  to  meditation.  She  was  thinking  of 
Kenward.  He  had  not  joined  in  the  little  chorus 
of  kind  speeches  and  cordial  good-nights  which 
had  followed  upon  her  discomfiture;  but  had  stood 
apart;  and  Nulma  flushed  now,  and  shrank  into 
herself  again,  as  she  remembered  the  glance,  half 
of  fun,  half  of  pity,  which  she  had  surprised  in 
his  eyes.  He  had  not  said  good-night  to  her.  Had 
she  disgusted  him  utterly?  Had  he  been  waiting 
for  her  to  put  out  her  hand,  or  was  it  possible  he 
had  kept  aloof  from  a  wish  not  to  add  to  her  em- 
barrassment? No;  it  was  much  more  likely  that 
he  had  not  thought  her  worth  troubling  about — a 
greedy,  forward  creature,  who  was  just  amusing 
as  a  type  of  an  Australian  girl,  without  manners  or 
education,  but  with  hair,  eyes,  and  complexion  that 
would  make  a  good  study  in  yellows  and  browns. 
That  was  all  he  thought  about. 

Nulma   heaved   a    louder   sigh,   an    ejaculation, 


134 


NULMA. 


rather,  of  self-discontent,  and  of  a  vague  pain — 
pain  such  as  she  had  never  before  in  her  life  ex- 
perienced. Her  father  heard  the  sigh,  and,  feeling 
for  her  hand,  took  it  in  his  and  fondled  it. 

"  Never  mind,  Lulu!  I  was  only  chaffing.  Who 
minds  if  a  pretty  girl  drops  her  shoe  and  steals  the 
lollipops?  It  quite  shook  up  the  old  Governor; 
and  that  was  a  pretty  speech,  wasn't  it,  now,  that 
he  made  to  you?  We  must  be  sure  and  give  Luce 
his  message.  Come,  don't  be  cast  down,  child.  I 
can  tell  you  they  all  cotton  to  you  in  a  way  that 
made  your  old  dad  as  proud  as  Punch.  You're  to 
lunch  with  Lady  Arthur  on  Tuesday.  That's  a  tak- 
ing woman — no  nonsensical  pride  about  her.  Just 
you  watch  her  ways,  and  you  won't  need  to  go  to 
Mrs.  Perryman's  for  lessons  in  manners." 

It  was  clear  that  Lady  Arthur  had  taken  pains 
to  be  agreeable  to  the  Minister  of  Mines — clear, 
also,  that  Goodeve's  faith  in .  Mrs.  Perryman  as  a 
social  authority  had  been  a  little  shaken. 

Nulma  was  silent.  She  reflected  that  the  driver, 
with  whom  they  wrere  sitting  back  to  back,  might 
perhaps  hear  what  they  were  saying,  though  the 
breeze  from  the  river  blew  her  father's  words  away 
in  front  of  them  into  the  night;  and,  besides,  she 
had  an  odd-mixed  feeling  about  Lady  Arthur — 
about  many  other  things  connected  with  the  dinner- 
party— which  she  knew  instinctively  her  father 
would  never  understand.  Goodeve  went  on  fon- 
dling his  child's  hand,  but  somehow,  for  the  very 


CONFIDENCES. 


135 


first  time  in  Nulma's  life,  his  touch  irritated  rather 
than  soothed  her.  She  was  disagreeably  aware  of 
the  bony  protuberances,  the  shaggy  hairs,  the  en- 
larged joints,  of  her  father's  hand,  and  had  a  sud- 
den vision  of  Kenward's  long,  smooth,  artistic  fin- 
gers. The  contrast  between  the  two  hands  seemed 
typical  of  the  immense  gulf  which  divided  her  own 
being,  her  circumstances  and  upbringing  from  those 
of  the  men  and  women  with  whom  she  had  just 
parted — the  four  men  and  the  one  woman  who 
made  up  the  Government  House  family.  That  first 
faint  sense  of  jar  between  herself  and  her  father 
gave  the  girl  the  keenest  pain.  She  did  not  under- 
stand it;  she  only  felt  it.  With  a  little  wriggling 
movement  she  withdrew  her  hand,  and,  catching 
at  her  belt,  drew  out  the  spray  of  drooping  buds 
Kenward  had  given  her.  Their  faint  fragrance 
half  angered,  half  thrilled  her.  It  recalled  that 
speech  of  his,  that  she  had  herself  provoked,  in 
which  he  had  given  her  for  her  emblem  the  wattle 
flower.  Oh,  well,  it  was  a  very  appropriate  com- 
parison, she  thought  bitterly.  His  rejection  of  the 
stephanotis  as  "  too  exotic  and  suggestive  " — she 
recalled  his  murmured  words — suddenly  took  an 
unsuspected  and  humiliating  meaning.  She  was 
just  a  bit  of  wild  Bush  wattle — a  weed,  pretty  in 
its  way,  nice  to  paint,  perhaps,  but  only  a  weed. 
Not  the  sort  of  flower  to  decorate  a  drawing-room, 
or  to  be  placed  in  such  bouquets  as  he  might  offer 
to  Lady  Arthur  Keefe.     A  weed  that  would  just 


136  NULMA. 


make  a   pretty  picture,   because  it   was   "  genuine 
Australian,"  and  then  be  thrown  away! 

Poor  Nulma!  It  was  a  new  phase  of  life  upon 
which  she  was  entering  this  evening.  Always  be- 
fore she  had  been  in  harmony  with  her  surround- 
ings, and  the  little  inward  tumult  of  vague  conjec- 
ture and  romantic  longings  of  which  she  was  al- 
ways conscious  had  been  only  a  pleasant  excite- 
ment— a  sort  of  stirring  refrain  to  the  tranquil  song 
of  existence.  To-night  the  refrain  had  become  an 
aching  discord,  and  the  pleasant  excitement  had 
turned  suddenly  into  a  passionate  pain.  What  was 
the  use  of  going  among  people  like  that?  Her 
father  was  quite  right:  they  two  would  be  more 
at  home  over  a  billy  of  tea  and  a  damper  by  a 
camp-fire  than  at  a  grand  dinner-table  where  lords 
and  ladies  sat.  Nulma,  in  her  childish  ignorance 
and  mortification,  exaggerated  the  social  impor- 
tance of  the  Arthur  Keefes  after  a  manner  at  which 
Lady  Arthur,  could  she  have  known,  would  have 
smiled  bitterly  under  the  smarting  knowledge  of 
her  disappointed  ambitions.  Yes,  Nulma  said  to 
herself,  her  father  and  she  were  of  a  different  kind 
from  all  those  Government  House  people.  They 
had  come  from  bullock-drivers;  she  had  been  born 
under  a  bullock  dray — anyhow,  she  was  glad  that  she 
had  told  Kenward  that ;  they  were  rough  and  coarse 
and  ignorant.  Where  should  they  have  learned 
those  arts  and  accomplishments  which  made  up 
such  a  woman  as  Ladv  Arthur? — or  even  Mrs.  De- 


CONFIDENCES. 


157 


graves,  who,  as  all  Leichardt's  Town  knew,  held 
her  head  high  because  she  had  come  of  a  good  old 
English  family?  And  such  men  as  the  stately  old 
Governor  and  his  nephew,  who,  in  spite  of  a  certain 
heavy  simplicity,  had  the  unmistakable  stamp  of 
birth  and  education;  such  men,  too,  as  the  Chief 
Justice,  or  even  Captain  Textor.  Nulma  did  not 
include  Caspar  Van  Vechten  in  her  summary,  and 
yet  the  thought  struck  her  as  she  recalled  him  now, 
that  he  did  not  seem  out  of  place  among  those 
other  men — had  even  shown  to  advantage  in  his 
quiet,  reserved  way.  She  had  looked  upon  him  as 
belonging  to  her  world;  now  she  began  to  see  that 
he  belonged  to  the  other  world,  too.  The  inhab- 
itants of  that  world  might  laugh  at  herself  and  her 
father,  might  tolerate  them — even  be  amused  at 
them  in  their  kind,  pitying  fashion — but  they  would 
not  laugh  at  or  tolerate  Van  Vechten.  He  would 
always  hold  his  own.  Nulma  found  relief  and  some 
restoration  of  her  self-confidence  in  this  concep- 
tion of  him.  More  and  more  he  came  to  represent 
in  her  mind  the  notion  of  an  ultimate  support.  And 
yet  she  remembered  she  had  hardly  spoken  a  word 
to  him  all  the  evening.  But,  then,  he  had  been 
there;  his  eyes  had  often  met  hers;  and  she  had 
felt  herself  enveloped  by  his  protecting  tenderness. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


IS    IT    ALL    PAST! 


The  Chief  Justice  did  not  come  forward  to  take 
his  leave  till  after  all  the  Leichardtstonians  had  de- 
parted. He  was  so  intimate  with  the  Government 
House  party  that  it  seemed  a  matter  of  course  for 
him  to  remain  and  take  part  in  the  discussion  which 
was  sure  to  follow  the  entertainment  of  these  new 
guests.  But  Colonel  Burnside's  ponderous  criti- 
cisms upon  the  social  attitude  of  the  Leader  of  the 
Opposition  towards  the  Minister  of  Mines  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  return  of  Captain  Textor  and  Lord 
Arthur,  after  seeing  off  the  Degraves,  Captain  Tex- 
tor carrying  the  Governor's  mail-bag,  which  was 
always  sent  up  immediately  upon  the  arrival  of  the 
English  mail,  before  ordinary  letters  were  even 
sorted. 

"  The  English  mail  is  in,  sir,"  he  said. 

Lady  Arthur  looked  up  with  languid  concern. 
The  file  of  telegrams  from  Albany,  which  had  pre- 
ceded the  mail  by  a  day  or  two — for  in  those  days 
there  was  no  direct  cable  communication,  and  the 
news  of  the  declaration  of  war  between  France  and 

138 


"IS   IT   ALL   PAST?" 


139 


Germany  and  the  defeat  at  Sedan  arrived  simul- 
taneously— had  taken  off  the  edge  of  curiosity  with 
regard  to  public  affairs,  and  her  private  interests 
were  centred  in  Leichardt's  Land.  The  Governor 
paused  in  his  remark  to  make  a  sign  to  his  aide- 
de-camp,  intimating  that  he  would  examine  the 
despatches  in  his  private  room.  He  was  red-tapish 
in  such  matters. 

"  I  am  coming  in,  Textor.  Arthur,  I  should 
like  to  have  notes  made  at  once  of  anything  im- 
portant that  may  require  my  consideration.  You 
will  excuse  me,  Kenward." 

"  I  was  just  going  to  say  good-night,  sir,"  re- 
plied Kenward  as  he  took  the  Governor's  hand. 

"  Oh,  stay  a  few  minutes  till  they  bring  me  in 
my  letters,"  exclaimed  Lady  Arthur.  "  And  I  want 
to  settle  with  you  about  Tuesday." 

The  heavy  curtains  fell  behind  the  Governor 
and  the  aide-de-camp.  Lord  Arthur,  however,  lin- 
gered,  stolidly  irresolute. 

'  The  Governor  wants  you  to  write  despatches, 
Arthur,"  said  his  wife.  Then  her  tone  altered  sud- 
denly. 'Won't  they  keep  till  to-morrow?"  she 
added  meekly.  That  slumberous  gleam  in  her 
husband's  heavy  eyes  roused  again  the  morbid  ter- 
ror which  attacked  her  so  often  in  those  days. 

'  I'm  afraid  his  Excellency  won't  think  so." 
Lord  Arthur  looked  at  his  watch,  and  slowly 
snapped  it  to. 

'Writing  despatches  at  11.30  p.m.  is  a  beastly 
10 


140 


NULMA. 


bore,"  he  said.  '  That's  an  uncommonly  pretty 
girl  you  were  talking  to  all  this  evening,  Ken- 
ward." 

"  She  is  Air.  Kenward's  child  of  Nature,"  put 
in  Lady  Arthur.  "  I  told  you  that  was  what  he'd 
end  in." 

"  Oh,  well,  she's  uncommonly  pretty,"  said  Lord 
Arthur;  and  added:  "Well,  good-night.  You'll 
have  your  letters  directly,  Margot."  He  went  out; 
at  the  door  he  turned.  "  I  think  you'd  better  not 
sit  up  too  long,"  he  said  to  Lady  Arthur.  "  What's 
that  about  Tuesday?" 

'  The  child  of  Nature  is  coming  to  luncheon," 
she  replied  shrilly.  :'  Mr.  Kenward  is  going  to 
paint  her  portrait,  and  /  am  to  sit  by  and  do  pro- 
priety." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  hope  the  picture  will  be  as  suc- 
cessful as  yours,  Margot.  Good-night,  Kenward. 
You'll  look  after  yourself;  there  are  drinks  in  the 
hall." 

The  two  were  alone.  Margot's  eyes  had  a  wild 
expression  as  they  rested  for  a  moment  on  Ken- 
ward's  face.  As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  upon 
her  husband,  she  gave  a  little  gasping  breath  as 
if  she  wanted  air.  Then  she  moved  abruptly  into 
the  inner  room,  and  stood  over  the  fire,  her  arms 
on  the  mantelpiece,  apparently  lost  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  point  of  her  dainty  shoe. 

"  I  haven't  such  a  small  foot  as  your  child  of 
Nature,"  she  said. 


"IS   IT   ALL    PAST?"  ^j 

"  No?  "  He  seemed  puzzled.  "  It's  quite  small 
enough  for  your  height,  and  I've  always  told  you 
no  one  ever  had  such  an  arched  instep."  He  looked 
down  at  her  shoe  also  as  he  took  up  his  position 
by  the  mantelpiece  beside  her. 

'  That  shoe  episode  was  very  funny,"  Lady 
Arthur  went  on.  "  She  is  a  most  ingenuous  creature 
— as  she  should  be — your  child  of  Nature.  Did  you 
know  that  she  left  her  shoe  behind  her  under  the 
dinner-table?  " 

"  No." 

"  Perhaps  she  isn't  used  to  wearing  them.  Car- 
son brought  it  in  to  her  here,  and  we  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  that  her  foot  is  a  pretty  one. 
The  effect  would  have  been  better  if  she  had  worn 
silk  stockings." 

Kenward  felt  jarred.     He  said  nothing. 

"  It  was  very  ingenuous,  too — the  abstraction 
of  the  bonbons.  Uncle  Burnside  quite  rose  to  the 
occasion.  Was  it  the  story  of  the  sick  friend  she 
was  telling  you  all  that  time  you  were  together  in 
here?  If  so,  the  sick  friend  must  be  immensely 
interesting,  judging  from  the  expression  of  your 
face." 

''  No,"  replied  Kenward  shortly.  "  The  story 
was  not  about  the  sick  friend." 

"  Might  one  be  permitted  to  ask  what  it  was 
about?" 

"  Certainly.  Miss  Goodeve  was  telling  me  " — 
Kenward   hesitated   a   moment — "  telling   me   that 


I_}2 


NULMA 


she  had  been  born  under  a  bullock  dray;  that  her 
only  brother  and  sister  had  died  of  snake-bite  when 
she  was  a  day  or  two  old,  and  that  the  shock  had 
killed  her  mother  also." 

"Ah!"  Lady  Arthur  looked  interested.  "Yes, 
I  remember.  That  must  have  been  the  sad  story 
she  would  not  speak  of  before  her  father.  It  was 
very  confiding  of  her  to  tell  you.  I  asked  her 
where  she  had  got  her  name — Nulma,  which  in 
the  aboriginal  tongue  means,  she  told  me,  a 
snake." 

*  It  was  her  dying  mother's  fancy.  They  chris- 
tened her  Nulma  out  there  in  the  Bush." 

Just  then  the  butler  came  in  with  a  pile  of  let- 
ters. 

"  Lord  Arthur  told  me  to  bring  you  these,  my 
lady." 

Margot  took  the  letters,  glancing  at  the  en- 
velopes one  by  one,  and  laid  them  on  the  mantel- 
piece. 

"I'd  better  go,"  Kenward  said;  "you  want  to 
read  your  letters." 

"  No,  I  do  not.    They  will  keep." 

She  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two;  then  again 
she  turned  on  him  that  long,  wild  look.  He  came 
closer  to  her. 

"  Margot,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  what  is  the 
matter?  " 

"  Nothing.  Only  I  think  I  am  experiencing  the 
preliminary  throes  of  martyrdom;  and  I'm  wonder- 


"IS   IT   ALL   PAST?"  143 

ing  whether  I've  got  the  courage  to  go  through 
with  it." 

"  Martyrdom !     I  don't  understand  you." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  It  was  only  during  dinner 
that  I  made  my  plan  of  martyrdom.  And  you  have 
lent  yourself  to  it  admirably,  though,  of  course,  you 
were  not  conscious  of  doing  so."  She  spoke  bit- 
terly. 

"  In  what  way?"  he  asked  coldly. 

"  I  gave  you  your  chance  of  freedom  that  night 
on  the  steamer,"  she  answered,  "  and  you  wouldn't 
take  it.  Well,  am  I  not  showing  my  entire  confi- 
dence in  your  loyalty  by  arranging  unlimited  op- 
portunities for  you  of  flirtation  with  that  girl  whom 
you  admire  so  greatly  ?  " 

"Oh,  so  that's  it?"  He  spoke  irritably,  then 
went  on  in  a  calmer  tone:  "  Yes;  I  do  admire  her. 
Is  that  what  you  mean  by  your  martyrdom?  My 
dear,  what  is  the  use  of  it?  Haven't  we  settled  all 
that?" 

He  stooped  as  he  spoke,  and,  on  a  sudden 
impulse,  bent  his  head  to  her  shoulder,  and 
touched  her  neck  with  his  lips  twice  lingeringly. 
In  an  instant  the  whole  expression  of  her  face 
changed. 

"Oh,  Outram!  But  you  mustn't!  This  isn't 
dear  London.  And  I  sometimes  think  the  orderlies 
and  footmen  are  spies.  Arthur  is  jealous."  Her 
voice  had  sunk  to  an  agitated  whisper. 

Kenward's    brows    contracted.       He    had    not 


144 


NULMA. 


thought  of  Lord  Arthur.  "  You  never  told  me. 
Has  he  said  anything  to  you?" 

'  No — yes;  you  need  not  mind.  He  is  horribly 
fond  of  me.  And  I'm  frightened — I'm  frightened." 
'You  poor  little  thing!"  The  man's  tender- 
ness woke  up.  '  It's  all  fancy.  Don't  worry  over 
that  kind  of  thing.  Now,  we  agreed,  you  know, 
that  the  past  was  to  be — past.  We're  behaving 
splendidly." 

"Are  we?  Is  it  all  past?"  She  touched  her 
shoulder  with  a  laugh,  the  sound  of  which  gave  him 
an  odd  pain;  it  was  like  the  echo  of  dead  raptures. 
"Oh,  Outram,  how  long  since  you  did  that!  It's 
nonsense — nonsense  about  our  keeping  only  friends. 
I  can't  help  it.     I  must — once!  " 

She  put  her  two  hands  on  his  shoulders  and 
lifted  her  face  to  his.  The  hands  stole  round  his 
neck,  and  they  kissed  each  other — or,  it  would  be 
more  correct  to  say,  she  kissed  him  in  a  short, 
fevered  uniting  of  lips. 

Before  Tuesday  came,  Nulma's  mood  of  revolt 
against  social  circumstance,  and  her  half-formed 
determination  not  to  allow  Kenward  the  privilege 
of  perpetuating  on  canvas  his  wattle  simile,  had 
passed  away;  and  she  was  again  almost  her  old 
happy  self.  A  friendly  little  note  from  Lady  Ar- 
thur, ratifying  the  invitation,  written  under  the  re- 
actionary influence  of  Kenward's  new  tenderness, 
had  removed  the  impression  that  all  the  people  at 


"  IS    IT   ALL   PAST?" 


145 


Government  House  were  amusing  themselves  by 
making  fun  of  her.  It  must  be  owned  that  this  self- 
consciousness  was  very  unlike  Nulma,  but,  some- 
how, her  confidence  in  herself  seemed  to  have  had 
a  shake.  Moreover,  at  the  Executive  Council,  two 
days  after  the  dinner,  the  Governor  himself  had  in- 
quired particularly  of  the  Minister  of  Mines  after 
his  charming  daughter,  who  had  in  the  midst  of 
her  own  gaieties  so  unselfishly  remembered  her 
friend.  And  then  Caspar  Van  Vechten  had  come 
out  at  the  worst  time  of  her  dejection,  had  taken 
her  for  a  good  canter  on  the  Arab,  had  soothed, 
comforted  and  admired  her,  and  had  put  her  on 
good  terms  again  with  herself  and  the  world. 

It  was  so  pleasant  to  be  able  to  tell  Uncle  Van 
just  what  she  had  been  feeling — with  the  exception 
of  those  emotions  relating  peculiarly  to  her  father 
and  to  Mr.  Kenward,  which  she  kept  to  herself — 
and  to  be  certain  of  his  sympathy  and  comprehen- 
sion. He  had  been  just  a  little  bit  stiff  at  first,  she 
fancied,  but  when  she  had  expressed  her  regret 
at  having  had  no  talk  with  him  at  the  Government 
House  dinner-party,  he  had  thawed  at  once;  and 
after  all,  as  they  agreed,  what  did  it  matter  about 
not  conversing  in  company,  when  he  could  come 
out  whenever  he  pleased  to  the  Bunyas,  and  they 
could  talk  so  much  more  pleasantly  and  confiden- 
tially there?  He  had  not  seemed  so  sympathetic, 
Nulma  thought,  when  she  had  told  him  about  the 
picture.     He  asked  whether  her  father   had  been 


I46  NULMA. 

consulted  on  the  subject,  and  when  Nulma  ex- 
plained that  the  portrait  was  to  be  a  present  to  Mr. 
Goodeve  on  his  birthday  in  the  following  October, 
Van  Vechten  observed  that  possibly  Mr.  Goodeve 
might  not  care  to  be  placed  under  an  obligation  of 
that  kind  to  a  stranger,  and  that,  anyhow,  mys- 
teries were  a  mistake,  and  the  thing  ought  to  be 
square  and  above-board.  He  was  not  even  satis- 
fied when  he  heard  that  Lady  Arthur  Keefe  was 
sponsor,  so  to  speak,  of  the  whole  project;  and  the 
end  of  it  was  that  Nulma  took  the  best  course  that 
could  possibly  be  taken,  and  at  dinner  that  evening 
told  her  father,  in  the  presence  of  Van  Vechten, 
all  about  the  proposed  undertaking. 

Contrary  to  Mr.  Van  Vechten's  suggestion, 
James  Goodeve  showed  no  unwillingness  to  incur 
the  obligation.  Perhaps  he  did  not  consider  the 
acceptance  of  a  mere  work  of  art  in  the  light  of  an 
obligation,  any  more  than  he  would  have  consid- 
ered it  an  obligation  to  accept  a  friend's  photo- 
graph. It  would  be  a  very  different  thing  if  the 
Chief  Justice  painted  for  money.  But,  then,  who 
could  conceive  a  Chief  Justice  painting  for  money? 
He  did  it  for  pleasure  and  recreation,  and  what 
greater  pleasure  could  be  offered  a  man  than  that 
of  sitting  opposite  Nulma,  being  entertained  by  her 
prattle  and  personal  opinions,  and  given  full  oppor- 
tunity for  studying  her  charm?  This  was  Mr. 
Goodeve's  private  and  personal  opinion,  which  he 
did  not  publicly  announce,  but  he  made  it  pretty 


"IS    IT   ALL   PAST?" 


M7 


clear  that  he  considered  the  obligation  to  be  on  his 
own  side.  Then  he  was  flattered  by  Lady  Arthur's 
part  in  the  affair,  and  by  Nulma's  ready  admission 
into  the  charmed  circle  of  Government  House.  No 
looking  down  now,  by  the  Degraves  set,  upon  his 
daughter,  and  no  need  to  perplex  himself  as  to  a 
chaperon  for  her  in  the  coming  gaieties.  Lady  Ar- 
thur and  the  Governor  would  chaperon  her.  She 
would  be  put  straight  away  at  the  top  of  the  tree 
— that  was  how  he  phrased  it — and  in  the  end  who 
could  tell  what  might  not  happen?  But  here  James 
Goodeve's  self-congratulations  received  a  check. 
The  end  would  mean  Nulma's  marriage,  and  did 
he  want  Nulma,  his  pride,  his  darling,  to  make  a 
grand  marriage  into  a  family  which  would  despise 
and  shunt  her  father  because  he  had  once  been  a 
bullock-driver?  What  if  his  own  precautions  against 
contact  for  her  with  the  vulgar  herd,  his  jealous 
guarding  of  her  from  the  admiration  of  Leichardt's 
Town  youths,  his  care  to  preserve  her  fresh  and 
unsullied  by  boarding-school  notions?  were  all  to 
be  turned  against  him?  What  if,  in  striving  to 
keep  his  jewel  out  of  the  hands  of  the  polishers,  he 
had  made  it  only  the  more  valuable  and  flawless  a 
possession,  to  be  filched  from  him  the  more  read- 
ily by  greedy  fortune-hunters?  He  had  so  care- 
fully kept  from  the  world  the  fact  that  he  was  rich, 
had  lived  so  quietly  and  so  plainly,  that  no  one 
might  guess  Nulma  would  be  an  heiress;  but  he 
could  not  hide  from  the  world  her  beauty  and  her 


I48  NULMA. 

grace.  They  had  shone  out  and  conquered,  and 
he  was  proud  even  to  snobbish  delight  in  the  fa- 
vour of  the  great,  and  yet  he  was  sore  and  troubled. 

Something  of  all  these  mingled  feelings  he  con- 
fided to  Caspar  Van  Vechten,  after  Nulma  had  gone 
to  bed,  as  the  two  men  sat  over  their  pipes  in  the 
veranda.  Perhaps  he  may  have  had  a  motive  in  so 
doing.  There  was  something  wistful  in  the  tone 
with  which  he  added:  "  I  wish  I  could  see  Lulu 
married  to  some  really  good  fellow  with  a  stake 
in  the  country,  who'd  not  take  my  girl  away  from 
her  father  and  teach  her  to  be  ashamed  of  those 
who  gave  her  birth.  Some  chap  who  was  a  gentle- 
man, and  as  good  as  any  of  the  fine  English  lot  over 
there  " — Goodeve  jerked  his  head  riverwards,  pre- 
sumably in  the  direction  of  Government  House — 
"  but  who  had  worked  his  way,  too,  and  knew  what 
roughing  it  meant.  A  man  of  character,  and  not 
too  young,  for  Lulu  is  a  bit  headstrong,  and  needs 
guiding." 

He  paused  and  looked  searchingly  at  Van  Vech- 
ten, who  was  leaning  back  on  his  squatter's  chair, 
his  strongly-moulded  face  as  impassive  as  though 
he  had  no  anxiety  whatever  on  the  subject  of  Nul- 
ma's  future;  but  his  voice  trembled  a  little  as  he 
answered: 

"That's  all  very  well,  Goodeve;  but  there's  one 
thing  you've  left  out  of  your  calculations.  Nulma 
has  a  will  of  her  own,  as  you  say;  and  she  is  a  girl 
of  very  strong  feelings,  and  likely  to  develop  still 


"IS   IT   ALL   PAST?' 


149 


stronger  feelings  when  she  becomes  a  woman,  or 
I  am  very  greatly  mistaken.  You'll  have  to  take 
Nulma's  own  character  and  opinions  into  account, 
I  fancy.  Suppose  such  a  man  as  you  describe  were 
hanging  round,  and  pleased  to  marry  your  daugh- 
ter to-morrow;  it  wouldn't  be  of  much  use,  would 
it,  if  she  didn't  care  for  him?" 

"  Of  course  she  would  care  for  him.  A  girl 
as  young  as  Nulma  is  always  ready  to  care  for  a 
good-looking,  gentlemanly,  sterling  fellow  who  is 
in  love  with  her,  and  whom  all  the  other  women 
in  the  place  would  jump  at  for  a  husband." 

Van  Yechten  moved  his  head  slowly  from  its 
position  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  sat 
straight  up.  He  had  taken  his  cigar  from  his 
mouth,  and  was  contemplating  its  burnt  end. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,"  he  said,  "  I  had 
that  notion  too,  and  I  bothered  a  woman  into  mar- 
rying me  on  the  principle  that  where  liking  was 
love  would  certainly  come.  The  woman  ran  away 
from  me  with  another  man.  Since  then  I've  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  to  persuade  into  marriage 
a  young  girl  who  doesn't  know  her  own  mind  is  a 
dangerous  experiment,  and  one  which  a  man  isn't 
morally  justified  in  making." 

"Good  God,  Van  Vechten!"  exclaimed  James 
Goodeve.  "So  that  is  the  story  behind  you,  is  it? 
I  always  guessed  there  was  one,  but  I  didn't  im- 
agine it  was  this  kind  of  thing." 

'  Nor  anyone   else  in   Leichardt's    Land.     I've 


150 


NULMA. 


spoken  about  it  to  no  living  soul  in  these  ten  years 
past,  and  I  rely  upon  your  honour,  Goodeve,  to 
keep  it  to  yourself." 

Goodeve  nodded;  no  other  assurance  was  neces- 
sary. 

"  And  the  woman?  "  he  said.  "  You  don't  mean 
to  tell  me  that  you're  bound  still.  What  has  be- 
come of  the  woman  ?  " 

"  Divorced — and  dead,"  replied  Van  Vechten 
laconically.  '  Divorced,  that  is,  according  to  civil 
law,"  he  added.  "  For  me,  as  a  strict  Catholic, 
there's  no  such  thing  as  divorce." 

'  Ha,  as  a  strict  Catholic,"  repeated  Goodeve 
doubtfully ;  "  you  and  I  have  agreed  to  differ  on 
that  point,  Caspar.  It's  small  odds  to  me,  though 
I'd  walk  ten  miles  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  an  Irish 
priest.  I  suppose  there  are  good  Papists  in  the 
world  as  well  as  bad  ones.  Only  how  there  came 
to  be  Papists  at  all  is  a  puzzle." 

"  A  man  is  what  inheritance  and  tradition  have 
made  him,"  said  Van  Vechten.  "  In  the  nature  of 
things,  a  Dutch  Catholic  is  bound  to  be  what  you 
Protestants  would  call  a  bigoted  Papist." 

'  You  needn't  shove  me  into  the  Protestant 
boiling,"  said  Goodeve  roughly.  "  I'm  not  much 
on  religion — never  have  been  since  I  lost  Jenny 
and  the  little  ones  out  West.  I  couldn't  stomach 
Providence  after  that.  My  creed  is  a  short  one. 
'  Owe  no  man  anything,  and  keep  a  clean  tally,' 
that's  enough   for  me.     The  religious  side  of  the 


"IS    IT   ALL    PAST?" 


151 


question  don't  affect  me.  Anyhow,"  he  added 
abruptly,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  I'm  glad  the 
woman  is  dead." 

Van  Yechten  was  silent,  too,  and  both  men 
smoked  on  for  several  minutes  without  speaking; 
then  Goodeve  said  only,  "  Have  a  glass  of  grog, 
won't  you?"  and,  rising,  helped  himself  from  the 
decanter  of  brandy  which  stood  on  a  small  table 
near.  '  Nights  beginning  to  get  a  bit  chilly,"  he 
said;  "  I  expect  this'll  be  about  our  last  sit  out  in 
the  veranda  after  dinner." 

Van  Vechten  got  up,  too.  Simultaneously  the 
two  men  faced  each  other,  looking  straight  into 
each  other's  eyes.  Van  Vechten  held  out  his  hand, 
which  Goodeve  grasped.  They  understood  each 
other. 

'  You're   a   man   of   few   words,    Caspar,"    said 
Goodeve;  "  but  I'd  trust  you  as  far  as  hell's  gates." 


CHAPTER   X. 
lady  Arthur's  martyrdom. 

Nulma's  first  sitting  went  off  quite  satisfac- 
torily. A  sort  of  waiting-room,  scarcely  used  by  the 
members  of  the  Executive,  and  which  had  a  north- 
ern aspect,  was  turned  into  a  studio,  a  model's  plat- 
form was  rigged  up,  and  Nulma  placed  thereon; 
while  Lord  Arthur,  Captain  Textor,  and  even  the 
Governor  himself,  came  in  to  give  their  opinion  as 
to  the  position  in  which  she  should  be  represented. 
No  mystery  was  made  about  the  business.  Nulma 
told  Lady  Arthur  that  her  father  was  greatly  pleased 
at  Mr.  Kenward's  proposal,  and  Kenward  made  a 
point  of  calling  at  the  Mines  Office  and  thanking 
the  Minister  for  the  privilege  accorded  him.  He 
liked  Nulma  for  having  consulted  her  father.  There 
was  a  certain  dignity  in  her  frankness  which  put 
her  upon  a  higher  level.  But  he  was  not  so  pleased 
when  he  learned  that  it  was  Van  Vechten  who  had 
inspired  her  frankness. 

Anyhow,  a  rumour  soon  went  round  Leichardt's 
Town  that  the  Chief  Justice,  who  was  a  great  ama- 

152 


LADY  ARTHUR'S  MARTYRDOM. 


153 


teur  artist,  had  been  so  struck  by  Nulma  Goodeve's 
beauty  that  he  had  requested  permission  to  paint 
her  portrait — as  though  permission  were  necessary 
for  what  ought  to  be  considered  a  great  honour! — 
and  that  Lady  Arthur  had  actually  arranged  for 
the  sittings  to  take  place  at  Government  House. 
Was  it  possible  she  wished  to  arrange  a  match  also? 
and  if  so,  what  was  to  become  of  Mr.  Van  Vech- 
ten?  This  was  what  Miss  Caroline  Degraves  asked 
herself,  and,  without  serious  premeditation,  her 
manner  became  a  little  colder  to  Justin  Blaize.  At 
any  rate,  the  vague  rumours  of  Kenward's  attach- 
ment to  the  Governor's  niece-in-law,  which  had 
begun  to  float  about  Leichardt's  Town,  seemed  thus 
contradicted,  and  it  appeared  that  Lady  Arthur's 
martyrdom  was  already  bearing  fruit. 

But  what  a  martyrdom  it  was!  Many  times  she 
wondered  to  herself,  as  she  had  wondered  to  Ken- 
ward,  whether  she  had  the  courage  to  go  through 
with  it.  To  sit  there  with  that  interminable  piece 
of  arabesque  embroidery  between  her  fingers,  and 
watch  the  man  she  loved  apparently  absorbed  in 
the  fresh  graces  and  charms  of  this  young  girl, 
whom  she  already  looked  upon  as  her  rival;  to  see 
the  picture  growing,  and  note  the  keen  interest 
of  the  artist  in  his  subject  and  in  his  work;  to  listen 
languidly  to  Nulma's  light  chatter,  which  some- 
how, in  spite  of  its  limitations  and  its  frivolitv, 
seemed  to  give  hints  of  poetic  subtleties;  or  else 
to  catch  the  ball  of  talk  herself  in  a  fit  of  brilliant 


154  NULMA. 

exasperation,  and  dazzle,  perplex,  and  fascinate  the 
girl  by  her  clever  paradoxes  and  soft  cynicisms,  or 
to  vary  things  by  appeals  to  Kenward.  Did  he  re- 
member this  or  that?  and  wouldn't  Nulma  have 
enjoyed  such  a  thing?  and  how  certain  it  was  that 
at  such  and  such  a  point  of  sympathy  Young  Aus- 
tralia and  Old  England  would  meet!  There  was 
always,  even  in  the  more  personal  talk  with  Ken- 
ward,  a  vague  reference  to  Nulma,  so  that  the  little 
ignoramus  could  never  feel  quite  left  out  in  the 
cold,  and  could  only  admire  and  be  grateful  for  her 
hostess's  tact  and  consideration.  Yet  Lady  Arthur 
managed  to  convey  clearly  enough  to  Nulma  that 
she  was  an  ignoramus,  and  had  no  place  in  her  own 
or  Kenward's  world.  But  for  this  occasional  sword- 
play,  Lady  Arthur  could  hardly  have  borne  those 
hours;  and,  indeed,  sometimes  she  did  not  bear 
them,  but  would  abruptly  leave  the  room  on  some 
pretext  or  other,  and  have  out  alone  her  storm  of 
jealous  passion. 

After  all,  however,  the  hours  of  torture  were 
not  so  many.  The  sittings  had  to  be  snatched  in 
the  intervals  of  the  Chief  Justice's  duties:  two  or 
three  mornings  or  afternoons  running,  perhaps,  and 
then  with  a  week  or  more  between,  when  he  was 
obliged  to  be  absent  on  official  business.  It  was 
wonderful,  though,  what  progress  would  be  made 
in  a  few  hours'  work,  once  the  important  matters 
of  dress  and  position  were  decided. 

He  had  settled,  after  all,  upon  a  very  simple 


LADY  ARTHUR'S  MARTYRDOM. 


155 


white  frock,  and  she  was  to  hold  a  bunch  of  freshly- 
gathered  wattle  in  her  hands.  The  wattle  was  to 
be  added  in  August.  For  the  present  the  hands  and 
waist  were  a  blur.  But  the  face  was  Nulma's — 
Nulma,  with  the  fawn-like  eyes,  the  ripe,  bunya- 
nut  hair,  and  the  fearless  yet  startled  look.  It  was 
not  a  great  work  of  art,  but  it  was  a  bold,  vivid 
sketch,  and,  somehow,  Kenward  had  caught  in  the 
expression  he  put  into  Nulma's  face  something 
which  a  great  outside  artist  might  not  have  found 
there,  something  strange,  resolute,  ungirlish,  almost 
tragic — the  potentialities,  as  it  were,  of  Nulma. 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  quite  like  that,"  said  Nulma 
herself  one  day,  when,  descending  from  her  plat- 
form, she  inspected  the  picture. 

He  had  given  her  a  rest.  They  were  alone  for 
the  moment.  Lord  Arthur  had  come  in,  and  had 
called  away  his  wife,  telling  her  that  the  Governor 
wished  to  consult  her  about  something:. 

'Is  there  anything  you  don't  like?"  Kenward 
asked  anxiously,  getting  up  and  standing  a  little 
way  back  from  the  picture.  "  I  wish  you'd  tell  me, 
for  I  could  alter  it,  perhaps.  But  your  father 
seemed   quite   satisfied   yesterday." 

For  there  had  been  a  meeting  of  the  Executive 
the  day  before,  and  at  its  conclusion  the  Governor 
had  detained  both  the  Premier  and  the  Minister  of 
Mines,  and  had  brought  them  in  to  inspect  the 
work.  Mr.  Goodeve  had  been  requested  to  make 
allowances  on  the  score  of  incompleteness,  but  the 


11 


1 56 


NULMA. 


warnings  were  quite  unnecessary.  As  an  art  critic, 
James  Goodeve  frankly  owned  that  he  was  out  of 
it;  but  he  knew  a  likeness  when  he  saw  one,  and 
was  enraptured  with  this  of  Nulma.  He  had  warmly 
pressed  the  artist's  hand,  and,  contrary  to  his  usage, 
had  invited  him  to  come  out  on  Saturday  or  Sunday 
to  the  Bunyas,and  stop  without  ceremony  to  dinner. 
Needless  to  say  that  Kenward  accepted  the  invita- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  for  the  whole  world  have  it 
altered!  "  cried  Nulma;  "  it's  far  too  pretty.  That's 
the  fault,  I  suppose.  But  if  daddy  is  pleased,  it's  a 
good  sort  of  fault,  Mr.  Kenward." 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  where  it  is  you  don't 
think  it  quite  like  you." 

Nulma  looked  long  at  the  picture  before  she 
answered.  So  did  Kenward,  and  from  the  picture 
he  looked  to  Nuhna. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  at  last,  "  that  you  have  put 
more  into  my  face  than  there  really  is  in  it — some- 
thing like  what  you  have  put  into  Lady  Arthur's 
picture;  though  it's  all  right  there.  She  has  a  his- 
tory, and  I  have  none.  You  have  made  me  look 
as  if  I  were  a  girl  in  a  story — as  if  any  sort  of  won- 
derful thing  might  happen  to  me." 

"  Well,  isn't  that  true?  Any  sort  of  wonderful 
thing  might  happen  to  you." 

"  Do  you  think  so — out  here  in  Leichardt's 
Land?" 

"  The  human  drama  fortunately,  or  unfortunate- 


LADY  ARTHUR'S  MARTYRDOM. 


157 


ly,  does  not  confine  itself  to  one  particular  locality. 
It's  much  the  same  all  the  world  over." 

Nulma  examined  the  picture  again,  going  close 
to  it,  and  peering  impartially  into  the  painted  sur- 
face, as  if  she  were  searching  for  the  clue  to  a  mys- 
tery. After  that  she  went  to  a  mirror  placed  above 
a  table  between  two  windows,  as  the  fashion  used 
to  be,  and  examined  herself  with  equal  impartiality. 

"  Oh  yes!  "  she  cried;  "  you  have  put  your  idea 
into  the  picture;  I  told  you  so.  But  I  can't  see 
the  least  bit  of  all  that  in  my  face  here." 

He  came  nearer  her  and,  invisible  to  her  in  the 
glass,  looked  at  her  reflection. 

"  It's  written  in  every  line  of  it.  There,  Miss 
Nulma — there's  no  use  in  your  pretending  to  be 
commonplace.  I  venture  to  prophesy  that  sooner 
or  later  you'll  contribute  some  pretty  harrowing 
scenes  to  the  human  drama — not  harrowing  to 
yourself,  I  hope,  but  probably  so  to  others." 

'  The  human  drama,"  she  repeated,  and  her 
laugh  had  a  note  of  embarrassment.  "  Please  don't 
take  me  out  of  my  depth,  Mr.  Kenward.  It  makes 
one  think,  somehow,  of  the  great  tragedies  and 
things  one  of  my  governesses  tried  to  teach  me 
about;  but  she  had  to  give  it  up,  because  I  would 
muddle  up  the  names  with  Blacks'  language.  It 
seems  such  an  awfully  grand  expression  to  apply 
to  me,  and  daddy,  and " 

"And?"  he   questioned. 

"  I  can't  think  of  anyone  else  who  has  anything 


!58  NULMA. 

much  to  do  with  my  life,  unless  it's  Mr.  Van 
Vechten." 

An  unreasonable  spasm  of  jealousy  seized  Ken- 
ward.  He  always  winced  under  these  allusions  of 
Nulma's  to  the  man  whom  it  was  reported  she 
would  eventually  marry,  though  he  would  not  admit 
even  to  himself  that  they  vexed  him.  Now  he  could 
not  blind  himself  to  the  fact  that  this  speech  of  hers 
had  made  him  angry. 

"  Why  do  you  always  couple  yourself  like  that 
with  Mr.  Van  Vechten?"  he  exclaimed.  '  Is  there 
no  other  man  in  the  world  but  Mr.  Van  Vechten?" 

"  He's  the  only  man  friend  I've  got,"  said 
Nulma — "  the  only  one  daddy  ever  asks  to  the 
Bunyas." 

"  Your  father  has  asked  me  to  the  Bunyas,"  said 
Kenward.  "  Did  you  not  hear  him  yesterday?  I 
felt  immensely  honoured  and  grateful,  and  I  am 
coming.  Then,  Mr.  Van  Vechten  will  not  be  the 
only  one;  you'll  have  to  count  me  too,  I  hope,  as 
your  friend." 

He  came  a  little  closer  to  her  shoulder,  and  now 
she  could  see  his  face  behind  her  in  the  glass.  All 
the  time  he  had  been  watching  hers.  Suddenly  she 
became  aware  of  this,  and  as  he  spoke  her  girlish 
unconsciousness  completely  left  her.  She  flushed 
deeply.  The  same  thought  swept  over  both.  Al- 
ready she  was  beginning  to  realize  his  prophetic 
portrait  of  her;  there  was  something  in  her  face 
which  had  never  before  been  there.    The  two  pairs 


LADY  ARTHUR'S  MARTYRDOM. 


159 


of  eyes  met  in  that  curious  double  way  in  the  mir- 
ror. The  look  in  hers  stirred  in  him  remorse,  ter- 
ror, and  a  fearful,  tingling  delight.  Her  eyes  seemed 
to  say  to  him,  "  I  am  the  soul  that  you  are  awaken- 
ing to  life;"  and  with  the  almost  horrible  sense  of 
responsibility  he  felt  also  something  of  the  creator's 
joy — something  of  what  Pygmalion  might  have  felt 
as  he  beheld  the  marble  becoming  flesh. 

The  sound  of  Lady  Arthur's  voice  coming  from 
the  veranda  outside  the  Governor's  room  recalled 
him  to  himself.  The  voice  died  away,  and  he  sup- 
posed she  had  re-entered,  and  was  not  coming  back 
to  them  just  yet.  Well,  that  interlude  had  taught 
him  that  he  must  be  careful;  that  he  must  finish 
the  portrait  quickly,  and  get  engrossed  in  his  real 
work,  which  happily  was  coming  on  now;  and  that 
he  must  not  allow  himself  to  think  too  long  of  girl- 
ish flesh-tints,  of  shy  brown  eyes,  of  maiden  curves 
and  dimples,  and  of  that  fresh,  fearless,  unconscious 
charm  which  was  quite  unlike  any  other  charm 
that  had  ever  been  brought  to  bear  upon  his,  per- 
haps, too  susceptible  artistic  temperament. 

He  turned  resolutely  from  the  image  in  the 
glass,  the  eyes  of  which  held  him  as  by  a  spell, 
walked  to  the  easel,  where  he  altered  the  height  of 
the  canvas  a  little,  and  squeezed  some  more  rose 
madder  upon  his  palette.  Then  he  came  back  to 
her.  She  had  turned  from  the  mirror  too,  and  was 
watching  him,  still  with  that  embarrassed  flush, 
and  that  dewy,  eager  look  in  her  eyes. 


l6o  NULMA. 

'  Nulma,"  he  said,  "  I'm  not  grudging  Mr. 
\  an  Vechten  his  privileges — no,  not  in  the  least. 
I  am  sure  he  is  well  worthy  of  them — much  more 
so  than  I  should  be;  but,  still,  I  should  like  to 
have  a  little  privilege  on  my  own  account,  being 
a  selfish  sort  of  beggar,  you  know,  especially  now 
that  I've  really  been  asked  to  the  Bunvas,  and 
got  accepted  by  your  father  as  a  fit  and  proper  sort 
of  person  to  be  admitted  into  his  family  circle.  I 
know  he  doesn't  admit  everyone.  I  want  you  to 
call  me  your  friend  too.  Will  you  be  my  friend, 
Nulma?" 

Nulma  impulsively  put  out  her  little  brown 
hand.  There  was  something  childishly  pathetic  in 
the  look  from  her  wide-open  brown  eyes  which  ac- 
companied the  gesture.  He  took  her  hand  in  his 
and  held  it  while  she  spoke. 

'  I'm  only  a  stupid  Australian  girl,  Mr.  Ken- 
ward,  and  daddy  and  I  seem  different,  somehow — 
different  from  all  of  you.  Oh  yes,  I  know,"  she 
went  on  impatiently;  "  I  felt  it  that  first  night  we 
dined  here,  and  I  said  to  myself  then  that  perhaps 
it  would  be  better  if  we  kept  in  our  own  place,  and 
if  I  put  away  all  the  longings  that  I've  always  had 
to  be  with  people  like  the  people  in  stories — like 
what  you've  been  making  me  out  to  be;  "  and  Nul- 
ma gave  her  trembling  little  laugh  which  was  so 
sweet  and  so  soft;  how  was  it,  Kenward  thought, 
that  she  had  no  trace  of  James  Goodeve's  rough 
colonial  accent?    ;'  But  everybody  has  been  so  kind 


LADY  ARTHUR'S  MARTYRDOM.      \6l 

— the  Governor  and  Lady  Arthur  and  all  of  you. 
I've  forgotten  what  I  thought  then.  Of  course 
I'll  be  your  friend,  Mr.  Kenward;  but  it  seems  ab- 
surd to  ask  me,  and  it  would  be  more  to  the  point 
if  I  were  to  beg  you  to  be  mine.  What  good  could 
I  be  as  a  friend  to  you?" 

"  Every  good,  Nulma." 

"  And,  then,  a  friend  means  a  friend — really — 
to  me,"  Nulma  went  on.  '  You  see,  I've  got  so 
few — besides  daddy,  of  course.  Only  Luce  Perry- 
man  and  Uncle  Van.  I  can't  count  Mr.  Latham, 
you  know,  though  he's  my  godfather.  A  Premier 
can't  be  the  friend  of  a  little  girl." 

"  But  a  Chief  Justice  can." 

"  Oh,  and  a  Chief  Justice  is  a  greater  person 
really,  or  quite  as  great.  Now  you  see  what  an 
honour  you  are  doing  me.  But  you'd  be  so  differ- 
ent. The  others  don't  seem  able  to  tell  me  about 
the  things  I  want  to  know,  or  to  teach  me  the  things 
I  want  to  learn." 

"And  what  are  they,  my  child?" 

"  Oh,  haven't  you  found  out  yet?  England  and 
books,  and  people,   like   Lady  Arthur — like  you." 

He  winced  again,  this  time  at  her  unconscious 
coupling  of  himself  and  Lady  Arthur,  which  at  the 
moment  jarred  upon  him  inexpressibly.  The  real- 
ization that  it  did  so  was  a  new  warning.  He 
dropped  her  hand,  resisting  the  sudden  impulse 
which  had  come  over  him  a  few  moments  before 
to  raise  it  to  his  lips. 


1 62  NULMA. 

'Thank  you,  Nulma;  you  don't  mind  my  say- 
ing that  just  once  in  a  way — on  a  solemn  occasion 
like  this.    You're  such  a  child." 

"  Oh  no!  Please  call  me  Nulma.  It  doesn't 
seem  natural  to  be  Miss  Goodeve.  Everybody  calls 
me  Nulma." 

'  Well,  you'll  have  to  get  accustomed  to  being- 
Miss  Goodeve,  and  to  standing  on  your  dignity, 
after  the  May  ball,  mustn't  you?  For  it  wouldn't 
do  for  all  the  young  gentlemen  who  prowl  about 
Victoria  Street  to  be  calling  you  Nulma,  would  it? 
I'm  your  friend,  though,  and  so  I  may  call  you 
Nulma  once  in  a  way — not  too  often.  That's  set- 
tled, then.  You're  going  to  do  me  an  immense  deal 
of  good,  my  little  friend;  you  are  going  to  teach 
me  how  to  avoid  rubbing  against  Australian  preju- 
dices: for  I  want  to  be  a  success  as  the  Chief  Jus- 
tice of  Leichardt's  Land,  and  not  a  failure.  Also 
you  will  instruct  me  in  so  much  of  the  Blacks'  vo- 
cabulary as  will  be  of  use  to  me  in  my  official  jour- 
neyings.  And  I,  in  my  turn,  will  instruct  you 
upon  various  English  matters,  which  probably  you 
would  be  far  better  ignorant  of;  for  a  little  knowl- 
edge is  a  dangerous  thing,  Nulma,  and  is  apt 
to  make  the  young  self-conscious — a  sad  pity  in 
you." 

"  Oh  no,  I'll  try  not  to  get  self-conscious!  " 
'  Well,  we  must  see.     Perhaps  I  shall  help  Mrs. 
Perryman  to  correct  your  spelling,  by  telling  you 
of  your  mistakes  when  you  honour  me  with  an  occa- 


LADY  ARTHUR'S  MARTYRDOM.      163 

sional  note.  I  believe  you  can  spell  a  great  deal 
better  than  I  can." 

"  Oh  no,  indeed!  I  never  can  manage  the  dic- 
tionary words,  and  the  presenting  compliments,  and 
all  that  in  the  right  place,  which  Mrs.  Perryman 
says  should  go  into  formal  notes." 

"  Stuff!  Don't  present  your  compliments  to  me, 
please — that  I  implore.  If  you  do,  I'll  cease  to  be 
your  friend.  And  perhaps,  if  you  liked,  I'd  tell  you 
some  day  something  about  the  Greek  tragedies  and 
'  things  '  as  you  call  them,  that  might  make  them 
seem  a  little  more  interesting,  and  not  quite  so  much 
like  Blacks'  language.  Remember,  that  is  one  im- 
mense point  of  superiority  you  possess  over  me, 
and  over  all  the  Oxford  dons  that  ever  were.  You 
can  speak  Blacks'  language.  Oh,  there'll  be  a  great 
deal  of  mutual  accommodation  in  our  friendship! 
And  it's  a  bargain,  isn't  it,  Nulma?  " 

He  took  her  hand  of  his  own  accord  a  second 
time,  and  this  time  he  did,  in  spite  of  all  previous 
resolves,  press  it  lightly  and  playfully  to  his  lips. 
Nulma  flushed  again.  Ah!  she  had  not  blushed 
when  Caspar  Van  Vechten  kissed  her  hand  after 
their  particular  compact,  which  was  much  odder 
and  more  personal  and  embarrassing  than  this  one. 

Lady  Arthur,  coming  round  by  the  veranda 
from  the  Governor's  room,  where  he  had  been  keep- 
ing her  in  interminable  consultation  with  Captain 
Textor  and  Lord  Arthur  about  some  structural 
arrangements   for   the    Birthday    ball,    caught   the 


1 64  NULMA. 

scene  between  the  painter  and  his  model.  "  Al- 
ready !  "  The  poor  woman  gasped  the  word.  She 
felt  her  doom  approaching.  A  sensation  of  deadly 
sickness  came  over  her,  and  her  heart  thumped  so 
that  she  seemed  to  hear  it  above  all  the  other  sounds 
round. 

She  clutched  the  iron  pillar  of  the  veranda  and 
steadied  herself  by  it,  subduing  the  mad  longing  she 
had  to  rush  in  and  openly  upbraid  Kenward  for 
his  perfidy.  Then,  with  a  start  of  terror,  she  be- 
came aware  that  her  husband  was  watching  her. 

"  Margot,  what  is  the  matter?  Are  you  ill?" 
He  had  run  to  her  side. 

"  No — it's  nothing — don't  mind " 

"  Yes,  it  is  something;  you  are  ill.  What  upset 
you?" 

"  I  don't  know — oh  yes!  Do  tell  them  to  cut 
down  that  datura-tree — you  know  I  can't  stand 
strong  scents." 

"  I'll  have  it  down  at  once.  But  it  was  more 
than  that.  Afargot,  you  must  come  upstairs  and  lie 
down.  No,  I  can't  have  you  going  in  there  any 
more;  you  must  come  and  lie  down." 

He  led  her  upstairs,  supporting  her,  and  put 
her  on  the  sofa,  and  called  Maling,  and  dosed  her 
with  sal  volatile,  brandy — any  restorative  that  he 
could  lay  hand  on.  She  got  rid  of  him  at  last,  and 
then,  as  soon  as  the  door  of  the  private  secretary's 
room  had  closed  upon  him,  she  darted  up,  ran  down 
the  stairs  and  into  the  studio  again. 


LADY   ARTHUR'S   MARTYRDOM.  165 

Kenward  was  saying  to  Nulma  in  quite  a  mat- 
ter-of-fact tone,  and  as  though  there  had  been  no 
such  thing  as  a  sentimental  passage  between  them: 

''  Now,  Miss  Goodeve,  we've  behaved  atrocious- 
ly, and  have  wasted  a  hideous  lot  of  time  this  morn- 
ing; but,  still,  I'm  going  to  be  merciful,  and  I  shall 
give  you  a  ten  minutes'  rest — not  a  second  more — 
for  this  is  the  last  sitting  we  shall  have  for  a  good 
bit.  I've  got  to  begin  judicial  work  again  to-mor- 
row, and  give  my  mind  to  more  serious  matters." 

After  all,  what  had  he  done?  Only  kissed  a 
girl's  hand  in  a  half-bantering  fashion. 

Many  men  had  kissed  her  own  hand,  some  with 
an  old-fashioned  gallantry;  others  because  they 
were  half-foreigners,  and  it  was  their  way;  others, 
again,  because  they  were  in  love  with  her.  Which 
reason  had  it  been  with  Outram  Kenward?  Im- 
possible that  he  could  be  in  love  with  Nulma  al- 
ready; he  looked  upon  her  as  a  child.  So  Margot 
answered  herself. 


CHAPTER    XL 


THE    BIRTHDAY    BALL. 


It  was  about  a  fortnight  after  this  that  the  great 
night  came — the  night  of  the  Birthday  ball,  which 
rumour  said  was  to  outreach  all  other  Biithday 
balls  that  had  been  in  the  Randals'  reign.  Cap- 
tain Textor  had  taken  immense  pains,  so  had  the 
curator  of  the  Botanical  Gardens.  The  decorations, 
it  was  said,  were  to  be  quite  extraordinary.  The 
scrubs  along  the  river  had  been  ransacked  for  stag- 
horn  ferns ;  so  had  the  Observatory  and  the  Marine 
Department  generally,  for  flags;  and  there  had  been 
a  special  importation  of  Chinese  lanterns.  It  was 
to  be  a  very  grand  affair. 

Nulma  thought  the  place  looked  very  like  fairy- 
land as  she  and  her  father  drove  in  the  enclosed 
jingle  between  the  sentries  at  the  entrance  gates. 
The  curving  gravel  road  from  the  lodge  was  fes- 
tooned with  lanterns,  which  hung,  too,  from  a  great 
ficus-tree  standing  back  among  the  young  bamboos 
and  shrubs.  All  the  smaller  trees  were  loaded  with 
coloured  lamps,  and  they  outlined  the  arcades  of 

1 66 


THE    BIRTHDAY    BALL. 


167 


the  stone  veranda,  while  the  little  beds  on  the  lawn 
were  all  traced  with  fairy-lights,  which  made  a  jewel- 
like pattern  upon  the  sward.  There  was  a  three- 
quarter  moon,  which  seemed  to  enhance  instead  of 
marring  the  brilliancy  of  the  illuminations,  showing 
up  the  dark  pyramidal  shapes  of  the  orange-trees 
and  the  blossoms  on  the  camellia  and  azalea  shrubs. 
Within  the  hall  door  was  a  blaze  of  light  and  colour. 
Canvas  additions,  draped  about  with  flags,  had  been 
thrown  from  the  veranda,  to  serve  as  ante-rooms 
and  dressing-rooms;  joints,  canvas,  and  makeshifts 
being  concealed  by  stands  of  azaleas,  by  palms  and 
tree-ferns.  For,  as  Captain  Textor  remarked  to 
Lady  Arthur,  it  was  the  easiest  thing  possible  to 
produce  an  effect  when  poinsettias,  azaleas,  and 
camellias  were  to  be  had  in  armfuls,  and  you  had 
Kew  Conservatory  without  a  roof  all  round  you. 

The  general  crowd  had  not  begun  to  arrive 
when  Nulma  and  her  father  drove  up.  The  Minis- 
ters and  such  of  the  high  officials  as  had  the  entree 
were  received  first,  and  then  ranged  themselves  be- 
hind the  Governor's  party,  while  the  guests  of  lesser 
importance  made  their  bows  and  filed  past.  It  was 
a  grievance  to  Mrs.  Perryman  that  she  was  not 
able  to  accompany  Nulma,  her  husband  being  only 
the  head  of  a  department,  and  therefore  not  hon- 
oured by  a  card  of  entree.  She  did  not  think  it  be- 
coming that  a  young  girl  in  her  teens  should  take 
precedence  of  a  matron  who  might  have  been  her 
mother.     The   Perryman  household   was   not  alto- 


1 68  NULMA. 

gether  cheerful,  in  fact,  when  Nulma  went  in,  on 
the  way  to  Government  House,  to  show  herself  to 
poor  little  Luce,  now  lying  on  the  drawing-room 
sofa,  with  just  faint  hopes  held  out  that  she  might 
be  able  to  get  up  and  make  an  appearance,  but  not 
dance,  at  one  of  the  June  "  at  homes  " — Lady  Ran- 
dal had  always  given  two  "  at  homes  "  in  June,  and 
it  was  supposed  that  Governor  Burnside  would  fol- 
low the  precedent.  Luce  had  been  crying  softly, 
Mr.  Perryman  looked  worried,  and  Mrs.  Perryman 
was  cross — first  because  she  had  no  Luce  to  bring 
out,  and  secondly  because  Miss  Orr,  the  dress- 
maker, in  altering  her  last  year's  dress,  had  made 
it  too  scanty.  "  As  if  I  wasn't  thin  enough  already, 
that  she  should  want  to  make  me  look  still  more 
like  a  skeleton!  "  wrathfully  exclaimed  Mrs.  Perry- 
man, inspecting  her  scraggy,  ill-jointed  proportions 
in  a  glass,  while  Luce  from  her  sofa  tried  to  pull 
out  her  mother's  draperies  and  give  an  effect  of 
amplitude  which  was  not  in  fact.  Nulma  burst  upon 
the  scene  a  radiant  vision  in  white  tarlatan — girls 
wore  tarlatan  in  those  days — and  carrying  a  bou- 
quet of  white  rosebuds  and  maidenhair  fern,  which, 
with  its  long  satin  streamers,  might  have  come  from 
Covent  Garden. 

"Oh,  Lulu,  how  lovely!"  cried  Luce.     "Who 
gave  it  you?  " 

;'  Mr.  Van  Vechten,  of  course,"  replied  Nulma. 

'  Who  else  would  give  me  a  bouquet?     That  was 

always  a  bargain  between  us.     He  was  to  give  me 


THE    BIRTHDAY    BALL.  169 

my  bouquet,  and  I  was  to  give  him  the  first 
dance." 

"  Oh,  can  he  dance?  "  said  Luce  contemptuous- 
ly. "  I  thought  you'd  have  danced  the  first  dance 
with  Captain  Textor,  or  the  Chief  Justice,  or  one 
of  that  lot."  Luce  in  her  private  heart  considered 
Mr.  Van  Vechten  a  respectable  bore,  far  too  old  to 
be  welcomed  as  a  lover.  "  For  my  part,  I'd  rather 
have  had  Victor  Degraves  than  Mr.  Van  Vechten," 
she  added. 

"  Or  Malcolm  Derrett,"  said  Nulma  scornfully. 
"  Please  don't  compare  Mr.  Van  Vechten  with 
those  two." 

"  I  wasn't.  He's  old  enough  to  be  their  father. 
You  don't  care  for  young  men,  Lulu,  because  you've 
never  been  allowed  to  go  in  the  way  of  beaux." 

"  I  don't  care  for  boys,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
returned  Nulma  loftily.  "  And  as  for  beaux — that 
sort  of  thing  is  vulgar,  common.  Fancy  Lady  Ar- 
thur talking  about — beaux!  " 

"  Ladv  Arthur  is  a  married  woman.  Oh,  I 
knew  how  it  would  be.  I  knew  you'd  get  spoilt  by 
being  made  so  much  of  at  Government  House. 
You  despise  all  your  old  friends  now.  It's  we  that 
are  vulgar,  you  meant  to  say.  And  me  lying 
here " 

"Oh,  you  poor  little  thing!"  cried  Nulma, 
stricken  with  sorrow,  as  Luce  began  to  cry.  '  I  for- 
got you  weren't  going.  How  selfish  and  horrid  I 
am!    Never  mind,  Luce  dear;  your  turn  will  come. 


i;o 


NULMA. 


Dr.  Clayton  says  you'll  be  all  right  in  June.  And, 
whisper,  shall  I  take  any  message  from  you  to  any- 
one?" 

Mrs.  Ferryman  had  gone  back  to  wrestle  with 
her  dress,  and  the  younger  girls  and  Mr.  Perryman 
were  engaged  on  the  tying  up  of  a  buttonhole  bou- 
quet.   Outside,  from  the  jingle,  sounded  Mr.  Good- 


eve  s  voice: 
it 


Nulma,  look  sharp!  Haven't  you  done  ad- 
miring each  other  yet? " 

"  Oh,  is  your  father  there?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Fer- 
ryman, and  ran  out,  mindful  of  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Goodeve  was  a  Minister,  and  that,  though  a  neigh- 
bour and  a  familiar  friend,  a  meed  of  respect  was 
his  due. 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Nulma.  "  Who  is  it,  Luce, 
and  what  am  I  to  say?  " 

'  You  can  tell  Malcolm  to  come  and  see  me," 
whispered  Luce. 

4  He  daren't,"  cried  Nulma.  "  He  is  a  coward. 
How  can  you,  Luce?  You  knew  it  was  he  who 
threw  that  orange-peel." 

'Hush!  don't  let  mamma  know.  He  didn't 
mean  it.  And  it  was  partly  my  fault,  for  making 
him  jealous — spiting  him  about  Victor  Degraves. 
i  Tell  him,  Lulu." 

'  Very  well.  But  I  can  tell  you  /  wouldn't  see 
him,"  said  Nulma.  "  Now,  I  mustn't  keep  daddy. 
Do  you — do  you  think  I  look  nice?  " 

;<  Lovely!  "  cried  Luce.    "  There  never  was  any- 


THE   BIRTHDAY   BALL. 


171 


one  so  pretty  as  you,  Lulu.     And  I  don't — no,  I 
don't  feel  envious  or  jealous  one  bit." 

But  poor  Luce's  voice  broke  as  Nulma  ran 
away. 

The  great  ordeal  of  making  her  entrance,  which 
Nulma  had  dreaded,  was  no  ordeal  at  all,  for  now 
she  seemed  to  know  all  the  Government  House 
people  quite  well,  even  Captain  Textor,  who  did  not 
to-night  put  her  down  as  a  badly-dressed  little  pro- 
vincial. White  tarlatan  skirts,  whether  put  together 
by  a  French  dressmaker  or  by  Miss  Orr,  of  Vic- 
toria Street,  Leichardt's  Town,  are  bound  to  look 
right,  when  they  billow  round  the  slender  form  of 
a  very  beautiful  young  woman. 

Nulma  stepped  with  the  grace  of  a  wild  fawn, 
her  head  erect,  her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  brown 
eyes  all  aglow  with  the  consciousness  that  she  was 
being  admired.  Such  a  lovely  young  creature  did 
she  appear  that  the  old  Governor  stepped  forward 
and  greeted  her  with  quite  paternal  warmth,  not 
forgetting  the  joke  he  always  made  now  about  the 
bonbons,  and  a  sly  injunction  to  Captain  Textor 
to  see  that  there  were  two  packets  ready  for  Miss 
Nulma  to  take  home  with  her.  "  For  I  don't  be- 
lieve quite  altogether  in  the  sick  friend,"  he  said. 
"  I've  seen  you  crunching  chocolates,  my  young 
lady,  as  if  you  liked  them  very  much  indeed.  And 
mind,  now,  you  enjoy  yourself;  and  if  you  don't, 
tell  me,  and  I'll  scold  Textor  for  not  arranging 
things  better." 
12 


172 


NUI.MA. 


Lady  Arthur,  too,  had  her  caressing-  pat  and 
approving  word,  and  Lord  Arthur  his  heavy  com- 
pliment. All  this  was  very  delightful — more  so  to 
James  Goodeve  than  even  to  Nulma  herself.  His 
red  face  glowed  all  over  with  pride  and  pleasure, 
and  he  did  not  feel  shy  now  of  putting  out  his  big 
hand  in  its  tight  white  glove  to  shake  that  of  Mrs. 
Degraves  and  the  other  ladies  ranged  behind  Lady 
Arthur.  Nulma  took  up  her  position  at  the  end 
of  the  line,  and  watched  Lady  Arthur  as  she  went 
through  her  duties — for  now  the  general  crowd  was 
beginning  to  arrive — and  Nulma  wondered  in  her 
own  mind  whether  she  herself  could  ever  attain  to 
the  shadow  of  that  finished  grace  and  fascination  of 
manner,  and  how  anyone  could  look  at  any  other 
woman  when  her  hostess  was  there  to  be  looked  at. 

Lady  Arthur  was  certainly  at  her  best  this  even- 
ing, her  magnificent  shoulders  gleaming  above  her 
low  yellow  satin  dress,  with  diamonds  round  her 
throat  and  in  her  crinkly  hair,  her  face  just  slightly 
touched  up  with  rouge,  and  the  lustre  of  her  eyes 
heightened.  She  had  had  a  little  respite  from  her 
agonies  of  martyrdom,  for  the  Chief  Justice  had 
been  chained  to  his  work,  and  had  made  an  official 
trip  up  the  coast,  so  that  there  had  been  no  sittings 
for  a  fortnight.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  hardly 
seen  Nulma  since  that  Sunday  when,  on  the  Minis- 
ter of  Mines'  invitation,  he  had  gone  out  to  the 
Bunyas,  and  had  spent  a  long  lazy  afternoon  and 
evening  lounging  about  the  garden,  gathering  early 


THE    BIRTHDAY    BALL. 


173 


mandarin  oranges  and  Cavendish  bananas  for  Nul- 
ma,  and  being  shown  all  the  girl's  favourite  nooks 
and  haunts  and  pets — her  young  wallabi,  her  tame 
emu,  Van  Vechten's  Arab,  and  the  wattle  plantation 
where  the  fresh  shoots  were  spreading,  at  the  end 
of  the  blue-green  branches. 

He  had  determined  not  to  think  of  her  in  the 
interval,  or,  since  she  seemed  to  be  always  protrud- 
ing that  charming  face  of  hers  between  his  imagina- 
tion and  the  subject  upon  which  it  should  have  been 
at  the  moment  occupied,  to  think  of  her  only  as  an 
entertaining  companion  for  an  April  afternoon — 
a  pretty,  playful  child,  whom  it  was  an  artistic  joy 
to  contemplate,  and  who  was  destined  in  due  course 
to  become  the  mistress  of  that  big  house  in  the 
bend,  with  its  solitary  clump  of  bamboos,  and  the 
wife  of  Caspar  Van  Vechten.  Under  this  impres- 
sion of  her,  forced  strenuously  upon  his  mind,  she 
came  upon  him  as  she  entered  in  her  grown-up 
ball-gown,  holding  her  big  bouquet,  with  almost 
a  shock  of  surprise  at  her  newly-acquired  womanli- 
ness. His  eyes  continually  wandered  to  her,  from 
where  he  stood  among  a  group  of  gentlemen  quite 
at  the  end  of  the  sort  of  semicircle  of  which  Lady 
Arthur  and  the  Governor  were  the  centre. 

Lady  Arthur,  as  she  bent  forward  her  graceful 
form  in  its  yellow  draperies,  and  her  small  foreign- 
looking  head,  with  its  brilliant  piercing  eyes  and 
hothouse  sort  of  beauty,  seemed  always  interpos- 
ing between  him  and  the  young  girl,  quelling  wild 


174 


NULMA. 


fancies  and  reminding  him  of  the  allegiance  he  had 
sworn  long  ago,  and  which  had  been  renewed  when 
she  had  offered  him  his  liberty  on  the  deck  of 
the  man-of-war.  Nulma  met  his  eyes,  and  the  sad 
look  in  them  troubled  and  excited  her.  She  was 
beginning  to  know  always  if  Kenward  was  looking 
at  her;  to  know,  even  when  in  a  crowd  she  could 
not  see  him,  whether  he  was  near  her. 

The  throng  in  evening-dress  pressed  on.  The 
hall  was  full  now.  All  the  people  in  Leichardt's 
Town  must  surely  be  there.  One  by  one  they  passed 
by  the  Governor  and  Lady  Arthur,  and  made  their 
greetings.  Van  Vechten  came  among  the  last, 
and  when  he  had  shaken  hands  with  his  host  and 
hostess,  slipped  round  beside  Nulma. 

'  You  haven't  forgotten  that  I'm  to  have  the 
first  dance,"  he  whispered,  "  though  I  am  such  a 
dreadful  old  fogey.  Nulma,  child,  do  you  know 
that  I  haven't  danced  for  nearly  twenty  years?  and 
this  is  my  very  first  ball  in  Leichardt's  Town?" 

"Not  really,  Uncle  Van?" 

"  Yes,  quite  really.  It  is  in  your  honour  that 
I  have  come  out  of  my  shell  at  last.  You'll  put 
up  with  me  if  I  don't  know  the  figures  as  well  as 
I  might,  won't  you,  Nulma?" 

"  Why  of  course,  Uncle  Van.  Perhaps  I  shall 
be  nervous,  and  make  mistakes  too." 

The  levee  or  drawing-room,  or  whatever  it 
might  be  called,  was  over  at  last.  The  band  in  the 
gallery  above  struck  up.     Lady  Arthur  was  carried 


THE    BIRTHDAY   BALL.  175 

off  by  Mr.  Degraves,  and  the  Quadrille  of  State 
began  to  form. 

"  We  won't  join  that,  Nulma,"  said  Van  Vech- 
ten;  "  we'll  seek  a  retired  corner  if  you  don't  mind, 
and  will  have  pity  on  my  confusion." 

Nulma  took  his  arm,  but  already  she  found  her- 
self surrounded  by  a  small  bevy  of  men  with  pro- 
grammes, one  or  two  in  uniforms,  but  most  with 
black  coats  and  buttonhole  bouquets. 

"  May  I  have  the  pleasure,  Miss  Goodeve? " 
from  one  and  then  another. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Nulma.  And  just  now  another 
voice  interposed,  a  voice  which  somehow  always 
thrilled  her;  it  was  so  different  in  its  clear  English 
enunciation  from  the  voices  of  all  other  men  she 
knew. 

"  Miss  Goodeve,  you  mustn't  fill  up  your  pro- 
gramme too  rashly.     Do  allow  me  for  a  moment." 

The  Chief  Justice  took  it  from  her.  Nulma 
had  hardly  realized  the  use  of  the  programme  which 
dangled  at  the  end  of  her  fan  till  now.  When  he 
returned  it,  she  saw  that  he  had  written  his  initials 
against  two  waltzes  and  a  set  of  lancers. 

"  Will  you  let  me  have  these — 3,  7,  10?" 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Nulma. 

u  Miss  Goodeve,  that's  too  bad,  to  give  away 
so  many." 

It  was  the  Chief  Commissioner  of  Police  who 
spoke. 

"  Miss  Goodeve,  we  shall  not  get  our  places," 


iy6  NULMA. 

said  \'an  Vechten.      '  Blaizc,  have  you  a  vis-a-vis? 
Come,  Nulma." 

And  he  hurried  her  off. 

"Afterwards,  afterwards!"  cried  Nulma,  nod- 
ding to  the  disappointed  partners. 

'  Nulma,"  said  Van  Vechten,  in  the  interval  be- 
tween the  first  two  figures,  "  it's  very  hard  to  see 
you  carried  off  by  everybody  like  that.  I  daren't 
ask  you  for  a  waltz — I'm  afraid  my  dancing  powers 
don't  run  to  that — but  you'll  sit  one  out  with  me, 
won't  you?" 

"Why,  Uncle  Van?"  hesitated  Nulma.  "But 
it  would  be  such  a  pity,  wouldn't  it,  to  miss  a 
waltz?" 

He  laughed  at  the  dejection  of  her  tone.  "  Of 
course  it  would.  Never  mind,  child;  if  you've  got 
another  quadrille  left,  keep  it  for  me — only  if  some- 
body wants  it  that  you  don't  care  to  dance  with, 
remember.  I  don't  want  to  be  exacting — and  I  am 
to  take  you  in  to  supper,  anyhow;  that's  all  settled. 
You  being  a  Minister's  daughter,  must  go  in  to 
supper  with  a  member  of  the  Upper  House.  At 
least,  it's  all  arranged,  and  you  can't  get  out  of  it." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Van,  I'd  rather  you  took  me  in  to 
supper  than  anyone,"  answered  Nulma. 

"  And  mind,  Nulma,  we  are  to  have  the  same 
sort  of  compact  about  the  dances,  as — as  about 
something  else  that  you  and  I  know  of."  His  voice 
shook  a  little,  it  'seemed  to  Nulma,  and  she  won- 
dered why.      '  You  are  to  come  and  ask  me  when- 


THE    BIRTHDAY    BALL. 


177 


ever  you  think  you  would  rather  sit  out  a  dance 
with  me  than  dance  it  with  anyone  else  who  on  that 
particular  occasion  wants  to  dance  with  you.  You've 
only  got  to  intimate  your  royal  wishes,  remember. 
I  am  always  at  your  service." 

"  But,  Uncle  Van,  if  you  should  be  going  to 
dance  with  somebody  yourself?  " 

"  No;  I  shall  not  be  going  to  dance  with  any- 
one. I  don't  mean  to  ask  any  lady  to  dance  but 
you." 

"  Oh,  budgery  you,  Uncle  Van!  Now,  I  do  feel 
proud!  and  Miss  Degraves  and  all  of  them  will  be 
dying  to  get  you.  But  isn't  it  an  awful  waste  of 
good  things  to  keep  yourself  like  that,  only  for 
me?" 

"  I  don't  think  so,  my  dear.  In  the  first  place, 
there  might  be  a  question  about  the  'good  things,' 
mightn't  there?  As  long  as  you  think  them  good, 
that's  all  I  care  for.  And  in  the  second — well, 
Nulma,  to  keep  myself  for  you — only  for  you:  the 
very  sound  of  the.  words  is  sweet  to  me — is  just  the 
one  thing  in  the  world  that  it  would  make  me  happi- 
est to  do." 

Nulma's  walk  round  the  ballroom  after  that  first 
quadrille  was  a  sort  of  triumphal  progress,  and  was 
in  truth  rather  a  slow  progress.  Every  dancing  man 
who  didn't  know  her  already  wanted  to  be  intro- 
duced to  her,  and  every  one  who  did  wanted  to  put 
his  name  down  upon  her  programme  with  as  little 
delay  as  possible.    The  Chief  Commissioner  of  Po- 


I78  NULMA. 

lice  got  the  next  dance,  which  was  a  galop.  And 
after  came  Kenward.  He  had  in  the  meantime  ap- 
proached Lady  Arthur. 

'  I  can't  give  yon  anything  just  yet,"  she  said. 
"  I  haven't  finished  my  duty." 

'  I  know  that,  and  it's  why  I  did  not  make  an 
effort  sooner."  He  studied  his  programme.  "  What 
do  you  say  to  5,  or  6,  or  9?  " 

'  You  pick  out  the  numbers  very  carefully. 
Are  you  so  deeply  engaged?  And  are  these  just 
the  ones  you  have  been  good  enough  to  reserve 
for  me?  " 

He  did  not  answer  a  word,  but  waited. 

"  I  will  give  you  the  next  dance,"  she  exclaimed 
recklessly.  "  After  all,  what  does  it  matter?  I 
can't  be  supposed  to  waltz  with  one  of  those  dread- 
ful Ministers." 

He  laughed  uneasily. 

"  Arthur  thinks  it  would  be  more  dignified  in 
me  not  to  waltz  at  all,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  what  a  farce 
it  is!  It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  keep  from 
shrieking  at  the  solemn  mockery  of  that  drawing- 
room  presentation  business — Margot  Keefe  and  her 
social  ambitions  to  come  to  that!  Well,  the  music 
will  begin  presently.  You  might  take  me  down 
there  to  the  staircase-end." 

"  I  can't,  I  am  sorry  to  say — can't  dance  this,  I 
mean.     I  am  engaged." 

"Ah!    To  Nulma  Goodeve?" 

"  Yes." 


THE    BIRTHDAY    BALL. 


179 


"  I  congratulate  you  on  making  good  use  of 
your  opportunities.  Would  you  mind  letting  me 
look  at  your  programme?  it  would  be  a  pity  if  I 
hit  upon  another  dance  which  happened  to  be  hers." 

He  gave  it  to  her.  She  held  it  close  to  her  nar- 
rowed eyes. 

"  I  don't  make  out  the  hieroglyph.  I  suppose 
it  means  '  N.  G.'    Thanks — 7  and  10,  I  see." 

"  What  may  I  book  myself  to  you  for?  " 

"  Nothing.  You  may  give  me  your  arm  across 
the  room,  if  you  please.  There,  to  that  place  by 
the  staircase.  .  .  .  Thanks.  Now  I  won't  keep 
you." 

She  dismissed  him  with  a  bow,  and  turned 
pointedly  to  a  good-looking  English  sugar-planter, 
whose  people  she  knew  something  about,  and  to 
whom  she  was  now  especially  gracious.  Kenward 
left  her.  The  sugar-planter  did  not  throw  balm 
upon  her  wound. 

"  Our  friend  the  Chief  Justice  seems  decidedly 
smitten  by  that  pretty  girl,"  he  said.  '  Don't  you 
think  so,  Lady  Arthur?  Somehow,  I  did  not  fancy 
youth  and  innocence,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  were 
much  in  his  line." 

"Did  you  not?    Why?" 

"  Oh,  well — he's  a  man  who  has  lived,  hasn't 
he?" 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  know  a  great  deal  about 
him,"  replied  Lady  Arthur,  with  a  smile  which  only 
she  herself  knew  to  be  ironic.    She  felt  no  gratitude 


s> 


I  So  NULMA. 

at  the  moment  for  this  evidence  that  her  own  repu- 
tation was,  so  far  as  the  sugar-planter's  knowledge 
of  it  was  concerned,  quite  immaculate.  "  It  is  al- 
ways the  men  who  '  have  lived,'  as  you  say,  who 
adore  youth  and  innocence,  and — that  sort  of  thing-." 
He  glanced  keenly  at  her,  struck  by  the  note 
of  bitterness  which  she  could  not  conceal,  and  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  had  said  a  foolish  thing 
and  that  probably  Lady  Arthur  and  the  Chief  Jus 
tice  had  had  their  tender  passages.  He  remem- 
bered hearing  that  they  came  out  in  the  same  ves- 
sel. No  doubt  she  was  jealous  of  this  young  Aus- 
tralian beauty.  She  divined  his  thought  as  quickly 
as  it  passed  through  his  mind,  and  knew  that  she 
had  betrayed  herself.  But  she  was  clever  enough 
to  counteract  the  impression,  and,  bravely  putting 
on  her  mask,  talked  soberly  of  Kenward:  wished 
that  he  might  marry — though,  for  her  own  part, 
she  would  have  preferred  that  there  had  been  truth 
in  the  rumour  which  gave  him  to  Miss  Glassthwaite, 
the  heiress.  Had  not  Mr.  Pallavant — that  was  the 
sugar-planter's  name — heard  of  Miss  Glassthwaite? 
His  people  knew  her,  Lady  Arthur  was  sure,  and 
Miss  Glassthwaite  was  a  friend  of  her  own.  It 
would  have  been  delightful  if  Nora  Glassthwaite  had 
been  settled  in  Leichardt's  Land  during  the  Gov- 
ernor's time;  and  an  English  wife  with  good  con- 
nections and  money  would  do  more  for  Outram 
Kenward  than  an  unformed  little  Australian,  how- 
ever pretty  she  might  be.    And  then  Lady  Arthur, 


THE    BIRTHDAY    BALL.  i8l 

in  the  intervals  of  her  social  duties,  contrived  to  at- 
tach Mr.  Pallavant,  and  started  a  new  martyrdom, 
in  the  vain  hope  of  piquing  Kenward's  waning  af- 
fections. For  a  woman  of  the  world  she  showed 
herself  singularly  elementary  in  her  tactics.  But 
the  woman  who  is  genuinely  in  love,  be  she  never 
so  thoroughly  sophisticated,  when  she  deals  in  the 
primitive  emotions,  deals  also  in  primitive  methods. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE   TRIUMPHAL    PROGRESS. 

The  first  ball  of  every  girl  is  supposed  to  make 
an  epoch  in  her  life,  but  this  was  most  especially 
the  case  with  Nulma.  She  had  never  been  so  ab- 
solutely happy.  The  evening  was  an  enchanted 
one.  Looking  back  upon  it,  she  did  not  think  there 
was  one  incident  she  would  have  had  different — 
one  partner  whose  name  she  would  have  omitted 
from  her  programme.  Yes,  perhaps  she  would  have 
enjoyed  the  mazurka  she  gave  Malcolm  Derrett 
better  had  she  danced  it  with  Captain  Textor,  who 
had  also  asked  her  for  it;  but  she  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  feeling  that  she  had  obeyed  Luce's  behest, 
and  also  that  she  had  administered  a  sound  rating 
to  the  young  man  for  his  cowardice  in  not  owning 
up,  which  no  doubt  he  deserved. 

"  I  shall  own  up  to  Luce  herself,"  said  young 
Derrett  sulkily.  He  was  a  good-looking  boy  of 
two-and-twenty,  a  clerk  in  the  Auditor  General's 
office.  "  She  knows  quite  well  that  I  did  not  mean 
the  thing,  and  that  I  no  more  thought  of  tripping 

182 


THE   TRIUMPHAL   PROGRESS.  183 

her — than I  just  wanted  Victor  Degraves  to 

come  a  buster;  I  made  sure  he  was  going  to  dance 
with  the  Slade  girl,  who  is  a  pretty  good  hand  at 
taking  care  of  herself — in  fact,  he  told  me  so — 
and  how  should  I  guess  that  he'd  change  at  the 
last  moment  to  Luce?     Poor  little  Luce!" 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  are  sorry  for  her,"  said 
Nulma.  "  I  know,  if  I  were  Luce,  I'd  have  noth- 
ing more  to  say  to  you."  And  as  they  went  slowly 
round,  she  supposed  within  herself  that  this  sort 
of  thing  was  what  Luce  meant  by  "  having  beaux," 
and  decided  that  Malcolm  Derrett  as  a  possession 
would  not  appeal  to  her — Nulma — in  the  least,  and 
hoped  that,  whatever  happened  to  her,  she  would 
at  least  not  come  to  that. 

The  dance  with  Malcolm  Derrett  took  place 
towards  the  end  of  the  evening,  and  before  it  she 
had  had  her  three  dances  with  the  Chief  Justice. 
Perhaps  they,  in  addition  to  her  other  experiences 
that  evening,  helped  to  raise  Nulma's  standard  as 
regards  "  beaux."  She  reflected  that  Luce  was  not 
in  the  enjoyment  of  her  privileges.  Had  such  a 
man  as  Mr.  Kenward  ever  singled  Luce  out  to  be 
his  friend,  she  could  never  have  stooped  to  Mal- 
colm Derrett. 

Kenward  danced,  as  he  did  most  things,  well, 
but  he  did  so  with  a  certain  reserve  and  discretion, 
and  bestowed  his  favours  by  no  means  indiscrimi- 
nately. Nulma  and  Miss  Degraves  were  about  the 
only  two  young  ladies  whom  he  led  out,  a  fact  ob- 


1 84  NULMA. 

served  and  commented  upon  by  the  Leichardt's 
Town  matrons.  He  danced  with  stately  ease,  which 
made  his  performance  seem  a  very  dignified  affair 
compared  with  the  more  jerky  prancings  of  the 
Bushmen  and  the  Leichardt's  Town  youths.  No 
one  had  a  step  like  his,  unless  it  were  Mr.  Palla- 
vant  the  planter,  who  confined  his  attentions  mostly 
to  Lady  Arthur,  though  he  did  twice  condescend 
to  Nulma.  The  girl  had  a  little  difficulty  at  first 
in  accommodating  herself  to  Kenward's  gliding 
motion,  but  he  supported  her  so  dexterously,  and 
steered  her  with  such  skill  and  strength,  that  in  a 
minute  or  two  they  were  in  complete  accord. 

"  I  ought  never  to  dance  with  anyone  but  you," 
she  said  breathlessly,  "  if  I  am  to  keep  in  that  step. 
I  shall  lose  it  next  dance." 

"  Oh  no,  you  won't — not  if  Textor  is  your  part- 
ner; he's  a  splendid  dancer.  Well,  I  wish  you 
might  never  dance  with  anyone  but  me,  Miss  Good- 
eve,  only  in  that  case  I  should  be  fighting  duels,  I 
expect,  and  that  wouldn't  be  becoming  in  a  Chief 
Justice." 

Kenward  was  proud,  and  took  Lady  Arthur  at 
her  word,  not  again  asking  her  to  dance  with  him. 
To  her,  the  evening  was  one  unmitigated  pain, 
though  she  looked  bright  enough,  played  her  part 
bravely,  and  seemed  to  be  enjoying  herself.  It  was 
over  at  last.  Nulma,  in  her  conquering  radiance, 
had  departed,  followed  by  limp,  draggled  Mrs.  Per- 
ryman  and  her  husband,  to  whom  Mr.   Goodeve 


THE    TRIUMPHAL   PROGRESS.  185 

had  promised  a  lift  home,  for  it  was  a  great  matter 
to  the  Perrymans  to  be  saved  the  price  of  that  re- 
turn jingle.  And  Lady  Arthur  had  put  on  her 
mask  of  smiles,  and  had  caressingly  asked  the  girl 
if  she  had  had  a  good  time. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you!"  cried  Nulma. 
"  It  has  been  perfect.  I  have  enjoyed  myself.  I 
shall  never  forget  my  first  ball." 

"Have  you  arranged  for  any  more  sittings?" 
Lady  Arthur  asked. 

"  No;  I  quite  forgot.  But  I  think  the  picture 
is  nearly  finished  now — till  the  wattle  comes  out. 
Mr.  Kenward  is  to  ride  out  on  Sunday,  and  I'll  ask 
him  then " 

And  Lady  Arthur  turned  away  smarting  with 
the  pain  of  a  dagger-thrust,  of  which  its  dealer  was 
quite  unconscious. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Kenward  presently.  ''  It 
has  been  a  wondrous  success.  Everyone  is  charmed. 
You  ought  to  be  congratulated.  You  couldn't  feel 
any  doubts  now,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "  about 
doing  the  right  thing  by  Leichardt's  Town.  You 
are  pronounced  a  model  hostess." 

He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  earlier  epi- 
sode. She  answered  not  a  word.  Some  of  the  last 
guests  came  up  with  unnecessary  fervour  to  take 
their  leave.  There  were  still  a  few  belated  couples. 
Lady  Arthur  gave  Kenward  a  look  which  carried 
him  back  two  years  or  more — back  to  London  ball- 
rooms, to  other  partings,  to  tender  fingerings  when 


1 86  NULMA. 

he  had  waited  to  take  her  downstairs  and  hand  her 
into  her  hired  brougham,  perhaps  to  slip  in  after 
her  on  the  pretence  of  taking  a  lift.  There  swept 
over  him  a  flood  of  remorseful  recollections. 

"  You  are  tired  out,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  take 
you  into  the  supper-room  and  get  you  some  cham- 
pagne or  something." 

She  accepted  his  arm,  and  they  passed  along 
the  now  empty  colonnade,  where  the  flowers  and 
ferns  were  drooping,  and  some  of  the  flags  twisted 
awry.  She  stopped  suddenly,  as  though  another 
impulse  had  seized  her. 

''  No,  I  won't  have  anything,  thanks.  I  had 
better  go  back;  they'll  think  it  odd.     Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  then,"  he  answered  curtly,  and 
left  her.  But  the  next  day  he  got  a  letter  from 
her — a  letter  all  passionate  reproach  and  tenderness, 
a  letter  such  as  she  might  have  written  him  in  the 
old  days — bidding  him  go  to  her.  He  obeyed  the 
summons.  The  horses  were  waiting  at  the  door 
when  he  rode  up.  Everyone  rode  in  Leichardt's 
Town,  and  she  came  down  in  her  habit. 

"  Will  you  ride  with  me?"  said  she,  quite  in  her 
usual  tone.  "  Arthur  and  Captain  Textor  are  going 
to  look  at  the  new  race-course.  Arthur  wants  to 
run  Brunette.  We  can  keep  by  the  river,  if  you 
like.    The  race-course  doesn't  interest  me." 

So  they  rode  together,  turning  as  soon  as  might 
be  out  of  town,  and  taking  the  road  by  the  river, 
which  lay  like  a  great  blue  ribbon,  just  ruffled  into 


THE   TRIUMPHAL   PROGRESS.  1S7 

sparkling  wavelets  by  the  west  wind  that  blew 
across  the  water,  and  gave  a  touch  of  chill  to  the 
air.  It  was  wonderful,  that  fresh  champagny 
breeze,  laden  with  faint  perfumes  of  winter  roses, 
narcissus  and  tuberose,  and  with  aromatic  whiffs 
from  the  gum-forest  which  spread  out  on  one  side 
of  them.  It  seemed  to  blow  away  the  rancour  and 
pain,  and  had  a  slightly  intoxicating  effect  upon 
these  two  sensitive  persons,  always  keenly  suscepti- 
ble to  such  influences.  Lord  Arthur  and  Captain 
Textor  rode  ahead,  making  little  detours  as  the 
aide-de-camp  tried  Brunette  over  fallen  logs  or 
paced  her  over  a  tiny  flat.  By-and-by  they  turned 
up  a  side-road  towards  the  race-course,  but  Lady 
Arthur,  who  had  watched  them  out  of  sight  among 
the  thickening  gum-trees,  deliberately  continued  in 
the  original  direction.  They  cantered  past  a  little 
German  settlement  of  Bush  huts,  set  in  fields  of 
bananas  and  pine-apple  plantations,  but  rode  slower 
as  they  found  themselves  in  a  perfectly  lonely  road, 
and  then  both  grew  confidential. 

She  never  looked  so  well  as  in  her  riding-habit, 
and  the  touch  of  melancholy  tenderness  and  of 
veiled  penitence  in  her  manner  made  her  particu- 
larly charming.  She  was  clever  enough  to  say 
nothing  of  Nulma  at  first,  or  of  the  jealous  fears 
which  tormented  her.  She  talked  to  him  of  him- 
self, of  his  prospects,  of  her  hopes  for  him,  of  the 
prestige  he  would  gain,  and  of  his  return  with  re- 
stored constitution  to  work  out  a  brilliant  career 
13 


lS8  NULMA. 

in  England.  She  spoke  plaintively  of  her  own  lot, 
of  its  loneliness;  of  Lord  Arthur's  morose  ways, 
as  she  called  them;  of  her  broken  nerves,  which 
made  her  unreasonable  and  selfish  sometimes;  of 
her  love  for  him,  the  one  ruling  passion  of  her  life; 
of  the  despairing  pain  it  brought  her  when  she 
recognised  its  utter  hopelessness. 

'  There  can  only  be  one  ending  to  that  kind  of 
thing,  Outram,"  she  said.  '  Do  you  think  I  haven't 
calculated  it — that  I  don't  grimly  face  it  every  day? 
And  as  I  see  it  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  I  feel  like 
the  poor  wretches  they  used  to  imprison  in  those 
shrinking  iron  chambers,  which  must  in  the  end 
crush  them  slowly  to  death." 

"  Margot,"  said  Kenward,  "  what  can  I  say? 
What  assurances  can  I  give  you  other  than  I  have 
already  given?  Tell  me,  and  I  will  say  or  do  any- 
thing that  you  wish." 

"  Give  me  this  assurance,  then.  It  is  not  a  great 
deal  that  I  ask;  but  promise  me,  on  your  honour, 
that  you  will  say  no  decisive  words,  will  ask  no  girl 
to  marry  you,  without  first  telling  me  frankly  of 
your  intention." 

"  That's  a  very  easy  assurance  to  give.  I  prom- 
ise that,  in  such  an  event — which  is  not  at  all  likely 
to  take  place — I  will  give  you  full  and  fair  warn- 
ing." 

"  Thank  you.  Remember,  it  is  a  promise — on 
your  honour,  Outram,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  You  hurt  me  last  night — horribly." 


THE   TRIUMPHAL   PROGRESS.  189 

He  did  not  pretend  to  ignore  her  meaning. 

"  I  think  you  were  unreasonable." 

"  Probably.  Have  I  not  said  that  I  am  often 
unreasonable?  But  it  was  the  first  time  since  I 
have  known  you  that  a  woman  stood  between  me 
and  you." 

"A  woman?    A  child!" 

"  Tell  me  honestly,"  she  went  on.  "  Don't  be 
afraid  of  hurting  me.  Have  you  ever  thought  of 
Nulma  Goodeve  as  your  wife?  " 

"  Honestly,  I  have  not.  Such  a  marriage,  put- 
ting everything  else  aside,  would  be  detrimental  to 
my  interests." 

"  More  detrimental  even  than — such  a  bond  as 
ours  has  been!  I  don't  know.  She  is  very  lovely. 
No  one  in  England  would  know  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  a  bullock-driver.  I  suppose  she  has 
money — or  will  have  money.  On  the  whole,  I  don't 
know  why  she  shouldn't  do  as  well  as  Nora  Glass- 
thwaite." 

"  You  seem  to  forget,  putting  other  things  aside, 
as  I  said,  that  she  is  engaged,  or  half  engaged,  to 
Van  Vechten." 

'  Is  she?  Pray,  who  has  made  you  certain  of 
that  fact?" 

"  She  herself.  There's  a  sort  of  understanding 
between  them,  which  practically  amounts  to  an  en- 
gagement. Margot,  will  you  do  me  a  favour?  Dis- 
miss that  subject  once  and  for  ever." 

"  Dismiss  Nulma  Goodeve?    That  would  be  dif- 


IQO 


NULMA. 


ficult.  She  has  a  way  of  taking  the  centre  of  the 
stage." 

"  Unconsciously." 

"  Oh,  unconsciously,  I  grant  you,  at  present. 
By-and-by  she  will  discover  for  herself  that  she 
has  in  her  the  elements  of  drama.  No  doubt,  if  you 
do  not  teach  her,  some  other  obliging  and  infatuated 
man  will." 

Kenward  gave  a  laugh  which  puzzled  Lady 
Arthur.  She  did  not  ask  an  explanation,  however, 
and  he  did  not  volunteer  one. 

All  Leichardt's  Town  agreed  that  this  was  the 
gayest  winter  that  had  been  known  since  the  colony 
had  been  endowed  with  a  Governor,  and  placed  in 
a  position  to  establish  social  precedents.  The 
Birthday  ball  was  only  the  beginning  of  a  series  of 
gaieties.  The  Ubi  Downs  Show  next  took  place, 
the  postponement  of  which  had  almost  made  the 
Government  House  people  unpopular,  and  fash- 
ionable, and  Ministerial  Leichardt's  Town  departed 
for  those  days  to  that  favoured  district,  ^vhere  sun- 
dry hospitalities  were  dispensed  by  the  important 
squatters,  and  where  there  were  some  balls  and 
various  daylight  gala  doings. 

Nulma  Goodeve's  intimacy  at  Government 
House  caused  her  to  be  included  in  these  festivi- 
ties, in  which  she  might  not  otherwise  have  taken 
part.  The  Minister  of  Mines  went  up,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  his  daughter  accompanying  him.  They 
stayed  with  one  of  the  squatters — it  happened  to 


THE   TRIUMPHAL   PROGRESS. 


I9I 


be  the  house  in  which  the  Chief  Justice  was  also 
quartered— and  had  an  extremely  good  time  gener- 
ally. Nulma  had  entirely  got  over  her  little  fit  of 
depression,  and  her  inclination  to  fancy  that  the 
world  was  making  sport  of  her  and  of  her  father's 
antecedents.  Life  to  her  just  now  was  like  a  chapter 
out  of  one  of  her  most  interesting  novels,  or  a  per- 
petual waltz  to  soul-thrilling  music,  a  waltz  with 
Outram  Kenward — that  was  what  the  highest  ideal 
of  enjoyment  came  to. 

She  had  many  waltzes  with  him.  By  this  time 
she  had  learned  his  step  to  perfection,  and  he  de- 
clared that  there  had  never  been  even  an  English 
girl  so  delightful  to  him  as  a  partner.  But  even  as  he 
made  the  declaration  he  had  felt  a  little  stab  of  con- 
science, remembering  certain  London  dances,  and 
a  very  particular  hunt  ball  to  which  he  and  Lady 
Arthur  Keefe  had  gone  as  fellow-guests  from  the 
same  country-house.  He  had  compounded  with 
conscience,  however,  on  the  score  that  Margot 
Keefe  had  never  been  a  girl  for  him,  and  that  she 
was  not  English.  Besides  which,  there  was  never 
any  suggestion  of,  or  approach  to,  love-making  in 
his  comradeship  with  Nulma.  He  took  almost 
more  pains  than  were  quite  necessary  to  make  it 
clear  to  himself,  and  to  her,  that  he  was  not  a  mar- 
rying man;  that  Nulma  was  to  him  but  a  beautiful 
child — a  dear  little  friend,  a  sort  of  sister.  More- 
over, that  he  was  very  nearly  twenty  years  older 
than  she;  though  he  could  hardly  count  this  a  bar, 


192 


NULMA. 


in  the  face  of  the  fact  which  he  strenuously  main- 
tained to  himself,  that  she  was  almost,  if  not  quite, 
engaged  to  Van  Vechten. 

Under  all  these  conditions,  the  thoughts  of  Lady 
Arthur,  of  her  possible  ground  for  jealousy,  did  not 
greatly  disturb  him.  There  were  many  opportuni- 
ties also  on  which  he  might  enjoy  Nulma's  society 
without  danger  of  causing  Lady  Arthur  uneasiness. 
According  to  colonial  etiquette,  the  Government 
House  ladies  did  not  mix  with  the  ordinary  herd, 
and  were  not  in  a  general  way  invited  to  Leichardt's 
Town  parties.  Only  when  important  people  like 
the  President  of  the  Legislative  Council,  the  Pre- 
mier, and  other  such  dignitaries,  gave  a  very  grand 
entertainment,  Lord  and  Lady  Arthur  attended  it 
in  a  sort  of  semi-state,  and  as  representing  the  Gov- 
ernor, who  declared  himself  too  old  for  gaieties  out- 
side those  of  Government  House  and  the  public 
balls  he  was  bound  to  patronize.  Occasionally  also 
Lady  Arthur  paid  informal  visits  to  certain  people 
who  lived  out  of  town,  and  had  called  at  the  Bun- 
yas,  upon  the  Degraves,  and  had  taken  afternoon 
tea  with  Mr.  Van  Vechten,  that  she  might  see  the 
view  of  the  river  and  town  from  the  Bamboo 
Hill.  But  she  did  not  go  to  any  of  the  ordinary 
balls  and  dances,  and  so,  being  somewhat  out  of 
the  run  of  Leichardt's  Town  gossip,  was  not  aware 
how  many  the  Chief  Justice  attended.  Captain 
Textor  was  a  discreet  person,  and  possibly  scented 
the  situation,  so  that  the  report  current  in  Leich- 


THE   TRIUMPHAL   PROGRESS. 


193 


ardt's  Town  circles,  that  the  Chief  Justice  was 
madly  in  love  with  Nulma  Goodeve,  and  that  the 
Van  Yechten  marriage  was  not  likely  to  come  off, 
did  not  penetrate  within  the  gates  of  Government 
House.  Alas  for  Lady  Arthur,  however!  there 
were  many  occasions,  public  and  private,  when  the 
attraction  of  Outram  Kenward  towards  the  young 
Australian  girl  seemed  sufficiently  evident. 

Nulma  was  intensely  happy,  and  she  was  so 
gay  and  so  absorbed  in  her  gaieties  that  she  never 
stopped  to  think.  The  clear  winter  air  was  like 
champagne  to  her.  She  seemed  to  be  treading  on 
elastic — to  be  living  in  a  sort  of  elysium,  where  all 
sounds  were  melody,  and  life  altogether  a  paean  of 
rejoicing. 

There  was  a  little  Parliamentary  crisis  going 
on,  and  her  father  was  obliged  to  leave  her  almost 
entirely  to  herself.  Out  of  the  session  it  was  Mr. 
Goodeve's  habit  to  spend  most  of  his  time  after  office 
hours  with  his  daughter,  but  now  that  the  House  was 
sitting  he  seldom  got  home  till  late  in  the  evening. 
Van  Vechten,  too,  being  a  member  of  Council, 
though  less  onerously  burdened,  had  his  afternoons 
taken  up,  and  it  came  about  that  Sunday  was  almost 
the  only  day  that  Nulma  was  certain  to  see  him. 
They  did  not  meet  at  the  dances,  to  which  Mrs.  Per- 
ryman  usually  chaperoned  her,  as  often  as  Nulma 
met  Kenward,  for  Van  Vechten  was  known  not  to 
be  a  dancing  man,  and  his  long  retirement  made 
people  shy  of  asking  him.     Perhaps  also  there  was 


194  NULMA. 

design  in  his  abstention  from  Nulma's  society.  He 
had  laid  out  his  part  for  himself:  he  would  be  there, 
always  ready  to  come  forward  in  her  service  at  the 
slightest  signal  from  her.  When  she  made  no  sig- 
nal, and  seemed,  as  now,  to  be  enjoying  herself, 
going  on  her  conquering  way  happy  without  him, 
he  would  hold  back  and  bide  his  opportunity. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  most  prominent 
person  in  Nulma's  little  world  just  then  was  Ken- 
ward.  She  realized  this  when  the  assizes  came  on, 
and  when  for  a  short  time  she  saw  almost  nothing 
of  him.  Fortunately,  the  criminal  statistics  of  Leieh- 
ardt's  Land  were  low  this  year — a  murder  by  a 
black  fellow,  under  circumstances  which  made  pity 
for  the  perpetrator,  or  doubt  as  to  the  justice  of 
the  penalty,  impossible,  being  the  most  harrowing. 
When  the  assizes  were  over,  the  Chief  Justice  gave 
himself  a  holiday  in  more  senses  than  one.  Then 
he  saw  a  great  deal  of  Nulma. 

Already  there  had  come  off  that  visit  to  his 
"  diggings "  which  he  had  suggested  to  Nulma. 
Indeed,  the  "  diggings  "  had  been  the  scene  of  two 
informal  bachelor  entertainments.  On  the  first  oc- 
casion, all  the  Government  House  party  which 
Nulma  had  been  invited  to  join,  including  the  old 
Governor  himself,  had  ridden  out  to  Minyando,  the 
Chief  Justice's  new  house,  only  then  it  had  not  had 
its  name  changed  from  that  of  Mount  Stuart,  be- 
stowed by  the  original  occupant.  This  entertain- 
ment had  necessarily  been  a  little  more  elaborate 


THE   TRIUMPHAL   PROGRESS. 


195 


than  one  which  took  place  later;  and  the  gems  of 
modern  art,  about  which  Kenward  had  spoken  to 
Nulma,  and  which  Lady  Arthur  knew  very  well 
already,  had  not  been  brought  greatly  into  evi- 
dence. The  garden,  the  stables,  and  the  furniture 
supplied  by  a  Leichardt's  Town  firm,  had  been  the 
main  points  of  interest.  The  Governor,  who  had  a 
turn  for  horticulture,  and  was  fond  of  comparing 
the  tropical  products  of  Leichardt's  Land  with  those 
of  Farnesia,  had  exhaustively  examined  the  flower- 
beds; and  then  they  had  sipped  tea  out  of  Dresden 
cups — Kenward's  extravagance — in  the  veranda; 
had  all  talked  more  or  less  generally,  Nulma  con- 
tributing least  to  the  conversation;  and  had  ridden 
back  in  the  dusk,  Nulma  taking  leave  of  the  rest 
at  the  gate  of  the  Bunyas. 

However,  a  fortnight  or  so  later  there  had  been 
a  second  tea  in  the  veranda,  at  which  Lady  Arthur 
had  not  assisted.  She  had  been  invited,  but  per- 
haps the  Chief  Justice  had  known  previously  that 
upon  this  day  she  was  bound  to  entertain  at  Gov- 
ernment House  the  wife  and  sister  of  that  squatter 
who  had  acted  as  entertainer  to  the  Governor  dur- 
ing the  Ubi  Down  Show.  Lady  Arthur  had  sup- 
posed that  the  Chief  Justice  would  postpone  his 
tea-party.     But  he  had  not  done  so. 

Nulma  and  her  father  were  the  only  guests,  and 
the  saying  had  been  reversed  of  "  the  more,  the 
merrier,"  for  in  this  case  the  tiny  party  made  much 
more    merriment    than    the    larger   one    had    done. 


196 


NULMA. 


Nulma,  unoppressed  by  the  influence  of  elders  and 
superiors,  had  laughed  and  chattered  like  a  veritable 
child  of  Nature.  The  mandarin  oranges  were  ripe, 
and  she  had  gathered  and  eaten,  making  the  air 
pungent  with  aromatic  odours  as  the  peel  squirted 
out  its  essence.  Blacks'  language  had  flowed  un- 
rebuked,  for  Kenward  had  encouraged  it,  and  had 
gravely  requested  her  to  search  the  vocabulary  for 
a  native  name  more  appropriate  to  the  locality  than 
Mount  Stuart.  Tea  had  been  drunk  in  the  veranda, 
the  drawing-room  inspected  again,  and  the  pictures, 
ivories,  and  odds  and  ends  which  Kenward — a  col- 
lector in  an  unostentatious  fashion — had  brought 
out  with  him,  were  exhibited.  Finally,  the  place  had 
been  rechristened,  and,  Kenward  solemnly  declared, 
should  be  known  henceforward  and  for  ever  as  Min- 
yando. 

It  was  July  now,  and  a  good  deal  had  happened. 
There  had  been  the  "  at  homes  "  at  Government 
House.  The  Degraves  had  given  a  large  party,  and 
there  had  been  a  less  pretentious  dance  at  Wirrib  in 
honour  of  Luce's  recovery,  for,  in  spite  of  all  melan- 
choly prognostications,  Luce  was  herself  again,  the 
strain  upon  the  Perrymans'  finances  in  the  shape  of 
Dr.  Clayton's  fees  had  been  removed,  and  the  rival- 
ry between  Malcolm  Derrett  and  Victor  Degraves 
was  in  full  swing.  Besides  these,  there  had  been 
many  more  dances,  and  there  had  been  riding- 
parties,  picnics,  and  excursions  to  the  bay  in  the 
Government  steamer,  all  calculated  to  advance  the 


THE   TRIUMPHAL   PROGRESS. 


197 


little  drama  that  was  being  played  out.  Now  there 
was  a  great  talk  being  made  about  a  bachelors'  ball, 
which  the  Chief  Justice  had  been  mainly  instru- 
mental in  getting  up,  and  which  was  to  take  place 
in  the  newly-erected  School  of  Arts. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    SPRIG    OF    WATTLE. 

Mr.  Goodeve  was  late  in  getting  back  from  the 
House  that  evening.  Though  the  ball  had  been 
fixed  purposely  for  a  Wednesday,  when  the  Legis- 
lative Assembly  only  sat  in  the  morning,  there  had 
been  obstructional  tactics  on  the  part  of  the  Oppo- 
sition, and  the  standing  orders  had  been  suspended. 
A  general  row  had  been  a  consequence,  and  nothing 
but  the  fact  that  most  of  the  bachelors  giving  the 
ball  belonged  to  the  Legislative  Assembly  would 
have  caused  the  House  to  be  adjourned  at  all.  Nul- 
ma  was  waiting  impatiently,  pacing  the  drawing- 
room.  She  was  dressed,  according  to  a  suggestion 
of  Kenward's,  in  pale  yellow,  with  a  sash  the  colour 
of  her  hair,  and  a  fan  and  bouquet  in  which  browns 
and  yellow  were  artfully  mingled. 

"By  George,  we're  going  it  to-night!"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Goodeve,  proudly  surveying  his  daugh- 
ter. "  We  are  flash,  my  word!  It's  a  queer  sort  of 
frock,  isn't  it,  Lulu?  Whose  idea  was  that?  Rather 
like  a  tin  of  Colman's  mustard,  eh?" 

iq8 


THE   SPRIG   OF   WATTLE.  199 

"Oh,  daddy,  you  are  not  artistic!  It  was  Mr. 
Kemvard's,"  added  Nulma  demurely.  '  He  said 
once  he'd  like  to  see  me  dressed  in  colours  like 
these,  and  it  was  he  who  thought  out  the  whole 
thing.     Budgery — eh,  dad?" 

"  Budgery  is  not  the  word.  And,  I  say,  Lulu, 
you'll  have  to  drop  that  '  budgery  '  of  yours,  now 
you're  going  about  among  grand  English  people. 
It  won't  do  for  them  to  be  calling  you  the  little 
savage." 

'  It  amuses  the  Governor,  dad.  They're  always 
asking  me  to  talk  Black.  Oh,  do  be  quick  and  dress! 
The  ball  will  have  begun  before  we  leave  here." 

Nulma's  cheeks  were  fretted  to  the  real  tint 
of  a  sun-flushed  apricot.  In  fact,  Kenward  had 
ere  this  conceived  the  notion  of  another  study  of 
her,  to  be  called  "  The  Apricot  Girl."  As  he  saw 
her  come  up  the  ballroom,  he  murmured  to  himself 
involuntarily:  "Heavens!  how  lovely  she  is!  "  Her 
brown  eyes,  flashing  eagerly  under  the  finely-ac- 
centuated brows  and  sweep  of  lash;  her  thin  little 
nose,  perked  forward  in  a  sort  of  wondering  joy; 
her  half-parted  lips;  the  backward  throw  of  her 
head,  with  its  yellow-brown  waves  of  hair;  and  the 
upturned  curves  of  her  babyish  yet  decisive  chin, 
all  gave  her  a  singularly  radiant  and  triumphant 
air — the  air  of  one  intoxicated  with  youth  and  hope, 
at  whose  feet  lay  the  world  and  the  glory  thereof. 

This  impression  struck  poignantly  upon  Margot 
Keefe.     From  her  position  on  the  dais  at  one  end 


200  NULMA. 

of  the  long  School  of  Arts,  where  the  ball  was  held, 
she  could  very  well  judge  of  the  sensation  caused 
by  Nulma's  entrance.  Just  below  her  stood  Van 
Vechten,  who  advanced  with  deliberate  eagerness, 
and  not  far  from  him,  in  the  act  of  descending  the 
two  or  three  steps  from  the  dais,  was  Kenward. 
The  Chief  Justice's  sudden  halt,  as  the  murmured 
words  of  admiration  framed  themselves,  was  elo- 
quent to  Margot,  and  caused  her  a  sickening  pain. 

"  He  is  in  love  with  her,"  the  poor  woman  said 
to  herself.  '  If  she  wanted  to  make  him  propose 
to  her,  he'd  do  it  to-night.  But  he's  got  to  keep 
his  promise,  he's  got  to  keep  his  promise,"  she  went 
on  mentally  ejaculating.  "  I  wonder  if  he'll  remem- 
ber." She  laughed  under  her  breath — a  bitter  little 
laugh.  "  If  he  does  remember,  and  keeps  it,  that 
will  show  she  is  not  all-powerful  yet." 

'  This  is  our  dance,  I  believe,  Lady  Arthur," 
said  the  planter,  Mr.  Pallavant,  at  her  elbow;  and 
she  got  up  and  went  down  with  him  into  the  hall, 
where  she  saw  Kenward  with  Nulma  on  his  arm. 

Both  Van  Vechten  and  the  Chief  Justice  wore 
the  white  badges  and  red  camellia  buds  which 
marked  them  out  as  hosts.  They  were,  indeed,  the 
most  important  of  the  bachelors  who  were  giving 
the  ball.  Kenward  had  opened  it  with  Lady  Ar- 
thur, and  it  was  then  that  the  passion  of  anger 
which  had  been  smouldering  for  weeks  blazed  up 
as  she  noticed  his  preoccupied  manner  and  the 
anxious  looks  he  kept  continually  casting  towards 


THE    SPRIG   OF   WATTLE.  201 

the  entrance.     She  knew  that  he  was  uneasy  be- 
cause Nulma  had  not  arrived. 

"  Pray  compose  yourself,"  she  said  at  last.  "  It 
is  not  likely  that  there  has  been  an  accident.  Per- 
haps the  Minister  of  Mines  was  late.  I  noticed 
that  the  windows  of  the  Parliamentary  buildings 
were  lighted  as  we  drove  by." 

"  Oh  yes;  they  are  squabbling  over  the  Land 
Bill,"  he  answered,  with  an  effort  to  seem  uncon- 
scious of  her  rasping  tone,  which  emphasized  the 
allusion;  but  his  eyes  gleamed  sullenly. 

"No;  it  is  the  Bill  for  Supply,"  she  returned. 
"  You  betray  your  agitation.  That  is  neither  digni- 
fied nor  complimentary  to  me." 

"  What  is  it  that  you  mean,  Margot?  This  is 
unworthy  of  you." 

"  Don't  call  me  Margot!  How  dare  you?  how 
dare  you?  " 

Her  words  came  in  a  whisper,  but  their  intensity 
made  them  venomous.  She  moved  forward  to  take 
her  place  in  the  figure.  When  she  faced  him  again, 
her  lips  were  set  in  a  smile. 

"Do  you  remember  the  Bourdillons'  dance?" 
she  asked.  '  This  night  three  years  ago.  The  co- 
incidence of  dates  seems  appropriate,  doesn't  it?" 

"  It  had  not  occurred  to  me.  You  have  a  good 
memory." 

"  A  woman  generally  has — for  those  things. 
Your  flower  reminded  me.  I  had  a  bouquet  of  pink 
camellias — do  you  remember?" 


202  NULMA. 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

"  You  made  me  give  you  a  bud.  Do  you  re- 
member that,  too?  You  were  going  to  keep  it  till 
your  dying  day.  Those  were  your  words.  ...  It 
is  your  turn,  I  think.  .  .  .  We're  both  a  long  way 
off  dying,  more's  the  pity — for  me,  at  any  rate. 
Have  you  asked  Miss  Goodeve  to  give  you  a  flower 
yet  to  keep  till  your  dying  day?  But  you  wouldn't 
talk  such  melodramatic  trash  now." 

He  muttered  something  almost  inaudible  about 
"  cruelty,"  and  she  glided  languidly  to  meet  her 
vis-a-vis.  Then  came  the  pause  again.  She  went 
on,  in  the  same  bitter  undertone,  always  with  a 
smile. 

"  It's  to  be  a  sprig  of  wattle,  isn't  it?  You  won't 
have  long  to  wait;  the  buds  are  thickening.  I 
looked  at  a  shrub  in  the  garden  of  Government 
House  to-day.  Outram,  how  long  did  you  keep 
that  camellia-bud?" 

"  I  have  it  now." 

"  Thank  you.  The  statement  does  you  credit. 
Terjury,  we  all  know,  is  a  matter  of  honour  on  oc- 
casions. It  would  have  been  foolish  to  take  you 
literally.  Old  flowers,  old  loves — there  can  be  but 
one  end  to  them — the  dust-heap.  .  .  .  Don't  you 
see  that  Mrs.  Degraves  is  chasseeing  to  you — a  real 
early  Victorian  chassee?  How  delightful!  ...  I 
beg  a  hundred  pardons  " — to  a  gentleman  next  her 
who  had  hazarded  an  observation.  ;'  No,  the  Gov- 
ernor never  dances.    What  a  good  effect  the  poin- 


THE    SPRIG   OF   WATTLE.  203 

settias  make!  The  Governor  was  saying-  that  the 
poinsettias  here  are  quite  equal  to  those  in  Farnesia, 
which  is  right  in  the  tropics,  you  know." 

And  so  on  through  the  interminable  set.  It  was 
after  having  taken  Lady  Arthur  back  to  her  seat 
on  the  dais  that  Kenward,  descending,  saw  Nulma. 

They  danced  the  first  waltz  together.  This  had 
been  an  engagement  ever  since  the  bachelors'  ball 
was  first  talked  about,  and  Nulma  had  fretted  her- 
self into  a  fever  lest  she  should  be  late  for  it.  She 
had  looked  forward  to  this  waltz  with  an  almost 
fearful  hope.  It  had  begun  to  dawn  upon  her  lately 
that  she  was  something  more  than  a  plaything  to 
the  Chief  Justice.  To  her — she  owned  it  now  fear- 
lessly to  herself — he  was  the  king  of  men. 

The  waltz  was  a  disappointment.  She  had  ex- 
pected to  see  a  smile  of  delighted  approval  upon  his 
face.  Her  dress  had  been  his  thought,  and  she  had 
pranked  herself  out  entirely  to  win  his  approval. 
But  he  paid  her  no  compliment;  his  face  seemed 
grim,  cold,  and  pained;  the  few  remarks  he  made 
were  mechanical.  What  had  she  done  to  offend 
him?  Tears  filled  her  eyes;  he  felt  her  step 
falter. 

"Are  you  tired?     Shall  we  stop?"  he  asked. 

"  No;  please  go  on."  It  was  better  to  dance 
than  to  run  the  risk  of  betraying  herself. 

They  paused  presently,  and  he  drew  back  with 
her  a  little,  but  not  out  of  the  way  of  the  crowd. 

"  You  have  carried  out  the  idea  well,"  he  said 
14 


204 


NULMA. 


slowly,  looking  clown  at  her  dress.     "  Yon  look — 
jnst  as  I  expected." 

"  I  was  afraid  you  didn't  like  it;  I'm  glad  you 
think  it's  nice." 

He  gave  a  queer  moved  little  laugh. 

'  It  is  perfect.  You  are  a  dream.  I  shall  always 
think  of  you  as  I  see  you  now — when  I  think  of 
you  in  times  to  come,  and  we  are  far  apart  from 
each  other." 

His  words  seemed  to  suggest  a  leave-taking. 
She  glanced  at  him  with  pained  bewilderment. 

"You   are  not— going  away?" 

'  There  are  other  kinds  of  apartness  than  that 
which  distance  makes.  Nulma,  are  you  rested? 
Shall  we  go  on  again?" 

He  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  they  fin- 
ished the  dance.  Instead  of  taking  her,  as  she  had 
hoped,  along  a  palm-lined  corridor  which  led  to  a 
sort  of  sitting-out  room,  he  walked  with  her  twice 
round  the  hall  in  the  ring  of  promenaders,  and  then 
asked  her  if  she  would  like  to  go  on  the  dais.  Van 
Vechten  intervened  as  they  were  about  to  mount 
the  steps. 

'  The  next  is  my  dance,  Nulma ;  "  and  Kenward 
bowed  and  withdrew.  Just  then  other  young  gen- 
tlemen came  up,  begging  for  dances,  and  Nulma 
remembered  that  Kenward  had  not  put  his  name 
down  upon  her  programme,  and  wondered  if  he 
did  not  mean  to  ask  her  again.  She  had  never  yet 
been  with  him  at  a  dance  when  he  had  not  taken 


THE   SPRIG   OF   WATTLE. 


205 


at  least  three  waltzes.  She  looked  at  her  card  in 
sickening  perplexity.  There  were  only  two  waltzes 
left,  and  these  were  very  low  down. 

"May  I  see  your  card,  Nulma?"  said  Van 
Yechten  when  they  had  found  a  seat.  He  exam- 
ined the  hieroglyphs.  The  Chief  Justice's  initials, 
he  saw,  were  not  among  them,  and  there  were 
the  two  blank  spaces.  "  May  I  have  these?  "  he 
asked. 

She  hesitated. 

'  Yes;  and — Uncle  Van,  if  I  should  want  them 
you  won't  mind." 

His  lips  twitched  and  the  heart  within  him  felt 
sore. 

'  I  told  you,  my  dear,  long  ago  to  make  use  of 
me  in  that  way  as  in  any  other,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Van,  how  good  you  are!  "  The 
girl's  eyes  were  brimming. 

'  What's  the  matter,  child?     Are  you  not  en- 
joying yourself?     Has  anything  gone  wrong?" 

"  Everything  has  gone  wrong! "  exclaimed 
Nulma  impetuously.  "  I  thought  I  was  going  to  be 
so  happy,  and  I've  done  something — I  don't  know 
what.    It's  all  different." 

"  Different  from  what  you  expected.  Poor  lit- 
tle Nulma!    Can  you  tell  me  how,  my  dear?" 

The  girl  flushed  deeply. 

"  No,  Uncle  Van;  don't  ask  me.  Never  mind. 
Let  us  go  back  and  see  the  people  dancing.  It — 
it's  dull  sitting  here." 


2o6  NULMA. 

Ken  ward  was  waltzing  with  Miss  Degraves. 
Luce  Perryman  whirled  by  radiant  in  the  arms  of 
Malcolm  Derrett.  Lady  Arthur  glided  gracefully 
round,  piloted  by  Mr.  Pallavant.  She  stopped  be- 
fore Nulma  when  the  dance  was  over. 

"Come  and  sit  beside  me,  child;  I  have  not 
seen  you  for  a  week.  I  want  to  know  what  you 
have  been  doing.  Bring  her  up  to  the  Gover- 
nor, Mr.  Van  Vechten;  he  wants  to  look  at  her 
dress." 

All  the  important  people — the  Ministers'  wives, 
the  squatters'  wives,  the  wives  of  the  heads  of  de- 
partments even — sat  on  the  dais.  Mrs.  Perryman 
was  there,  and  beckoned  to  Nulma;  and  Mrs.  De- 
graves  gave  her  a  smile  and  nod.  But  Lady  Ar- 
thur, breaking  from  her  escort,  put  her  hand  within 
the  girl's  arm,  and  led  her  to  the  Governor  and  her 
husband,  who  were  standing  talking  to  the  Minister 
of  Mines.  He  all  the  time  had  been  absently  watch- 
ing Nulma. 

"  Isn't  she  delicious — a  sweet  little  ripe  apricot 
growing  on  a  wattle-bough!  Doesn't  she  do  credit 
to  her  designer?  "  said  Lady  Arthur. 

"And  who  is  that?"  asked  the  Governor. 
"  What's  the  Black  for  '  perfectly  charming,'  Miss 
Nulma?" 

"  Cobbon  budgery,"  promptly  quoted  Nulma. 

"  The  Chief  Justice  designed  her,"  said  Lady 
Arthur.    "  I  know  his  scheme  of  colouring." 

Something  in  her  tone  struck  her  husband.    He 


THE   SPRIG   OF   WATTLE.  207 

looked  at  her  keenly  from  under  his  thick,  fair 
lashes. 

"Did  he  design  ball-dresses  for  you?" 

"  Many  times — when  you  were  in  India.  He 
designed  them  for  Miss  Glassthwaite,  too,  though 
that  is  natural  enough.  Nulma,  sit  here.  Tell  me, 
shall  you  be  at  home  to-morrow  afternoon?" 

"Yes — why,  of  course,  if  you  want  me  to  be, 
Lady  Arthur." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  at  home  because  I  am  going 
to  ride  out,  and  because  I  want  to  have  a  quiet  chat 
with  you.  I've  something  to  tell  you — a  warning 
to  give,"  she  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

"A  warning!"  repeated  Nulma. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  little  unsophisticated  Australian 
— a  warning  against  sophisticated  men  of  the  world. 
Now  you  are  going  to  be  carried  off.  How  many 
dances  have  you  given  to  Mr.  Kenward  this  even- 

ing?  " 

"  He  has  not  asked  me  for  any,  except  the  first 
waltz;  and  I  had  been  engaged  to  him  for  that 
long  before,"  answered  Nulma. 

But  Kenward  came  deliberately  towards  her  a 
dance  or  two  later. 

"  Miss  Goodeve,  may  I  have  the  honour  of  dan- 
cing another  waltz  with  you?"  She  held  out  her 
programme  to  him  with  a  reproachful  shake  of  her 
head.  "Filled  up!  I  might  have  expected  that, 
and  I'm  afraid  I  deserve  it  for  not  having  secured 
you  sooner.     But  one  has  duties  this  evening,"  he 


208  NULMA. 

added  indistinctly.  '  I  must  throw  myself  on  your 
mercy.  Is  there  really  nothing  that  you  can  give 
me?" 

She  pointed  to  one  of  those  against  which 
"  C.  V.  V."  were  written. 

'  I  don't  think  Mr.  Van  Vechten  would  mind." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  quite  believe  that ;  but  I  will 
take  them  both  thankfully."  He  handed  her  back 
the  programme,  having  scribbled  his  initials  over 
the  others,  and  his  eyes  met  hers  with  a  fierce,  trou- 
bled look,  that  thrilled  and  made  her  happy  once 
more.  '  You  are  very  sweet  and  true.  Forgive 
me,  Nulma,"  he  murmured. 

Oh  yes,  he  was  forgiven.  It  would  have  needed 
worse  wrong  than  that  to  make  her  implacable  to- 
wards him.  And  yet  the  child's  pride  was  wounded 
— her  heart  was  bitter.  He  should  see  that  she  was 
not  a  mere  toy — that  she  was  something  more  than 
a  sprig  of  wild  wattle,  to  be  plucked  and  thrown 
aside. 

She  was  very  silent  during  the  waltz.  No,  she 
did  not  want  to  rest;  she  was  not  tired — not  the 
least  bit — she  could  dance  on  all  night.  And  when 
it  was  over,  she  did  not  want,  either,  to  sit  down, 
and  she  thought  Uncle  Van,  who  was  to  take  her  in 
to  supper,  would  be  waiting  for  her;  and  so  would 
Mr.  Kenward  take  her  back,  please,  to  daddy  or 
Mrs.  Perryman? 

The  second  waltz  was  three  lower.  Some  of 
the  elder  people  had  gone,  the  Governor  among 


THE    SPRIG   OF   WATTLE. 


209 


them.  Captain  Textor  had  gone  with  him.  Lord 
Arthur  remained  with  Lady  Arthur,  for  whom  the 
carriage  was  to  return.  She  was  dancing  more 
than  usual  to-night. 

It  happened  after  supper.  Perhaps  that  had 
something  to  do  with  the  sudden  impulse  that  over- 
came the  Chief  Justice.  An  hour  before  he  had  be- 
lieved himself  firmly  steeled  in  the  resolve  that 
Nulma  should  never  know  he  loved  her.  He  had 
been  tempted,  but  he  had  repelled  temptation.  For 
weeks  he  had  been  drifting  on,  not  allowing  himself 
to  realize  his  position.  To-night,  his  keen  anxiety 
at  her  non-appearance,  his  emotion  at  the  sight 
of  her,  and,  above  all,  Lady  Arthur's  reproaches, 
had  brought  it  with  overwhelming  force  before 
him.  He  told  himself  that  there  was  but  one 
woman  to  whom  he  was  in  honour  bound — "  hon- 
our rooted  in  dishonour,"  he  bitterly  quoted  in  his 
thoughts — but  none  the  less  did  the  shackles  of  his 
old  love  hold  him.  While  she  remained  at  Govern- 
ment House  he  must  put  the  notion  of  marriage 
out  of  his  mind.  It  was  of  no  use  to  argue  that 
she  had  practically  released  him — that  she  herself 
recognised  the  injustice  of  chaining  him  for  life  to 
a  hopeless  passion.  It  was  as  vain  to  assert  that 
the  passion  was  dead,  the  mad  fever  over — that  she 
had  no  right  to  claim  him  as  her  bond-slave  any 
longer.  He  was  her  slave,  notwithstanding,  and  he 
could  not  be  Nulma's  husband. 

Ah,  but  the  dream  had  been  sweet!     To  clasp 


210  NULMA. 

that  young,  fresh,  beautiful  creature  in  his  arms; 
to  start  life  anew,  rebaptized  in  the  waters  of  her 
pure  affection;  to  have  the  prospect,  now  as  middle 
age  was  advancing,  of  dear  interests  and  responsi- 
bilities; of  a  home  gladdened  by  wife  and  children 
— this  seemed  to  him  as  the  vision  of  an  impossible 
paradise;  and  the  angel  at  the  gate,  forbidding,  took 
the  shape  of  a  pale,  smiling,  hothouse-flower  woman 
in  yellow  and  diamonds,  with  long  eyes  gleaming 
between  narrowed  lids,  and  parted,  crinkly  hair — 
the  shape  of  Margot  Keefe. 

It  seemed  to  Nulma,  too,  that  she  and  Kenward 
were  whirling  together  in  a  drama.  She  had  a  dim 
consciousness  of  Van  Vechten's  eyes  following  her 
sadly,  and  of  something  fierce  and  disquieting  in 
those  of  Lady  Arthur,  which  she  surprised  con- 
tinually as  she  flew  past  the  dais.  Kenward  mur- 
mured to  her  as  they  waltzed  in  wild  half-sentences, 
which  said  little  and  yet  told  so  much.  Before  the 
music  stopped,  as  she  hung  dizzily  upon  his  arm 
while  they  were  drawing  back  through  the  crowd, 
he  turned  abruptly  down  the  palm-decorated  pas- 
sage, and,  following  it  beyond  the  flag-draped  door- 
way into  a  sitting-room,  brought  her  on  to  a  veran- 
da, screened  by  creepers  from  the  roadway,  and 
dimly  lighted  by  one  or  two  Chinese  lanterns. 

"  Nobody  has  found  this  out  yet,"  he  said;  "  we 
have  it  all  to  ourselves.     Nulma — ■ — -" 

He  uttered  her  name  with  a  tender  inflexion 
in  his  voice,  and  paused,  as  though  he  were  afraid 


THE    SPRIG   OF   WATTLE.  211 

of  himself.  She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  arm, 
and  stood,  her  head  bent  a  little  over  her  bouquet, 
which  she  held  up  in  her  two  hands.  Her  atti- 
tude was  child-like,  yet  full  of  a  certain  native 
dignity. 

"  I  have  never  truly  known  till  now  how  sweet 
you  are,"  he  exclaimed,  and  for  a  moment  put  his 
hand  upon  hers  which  clasped  the  bouquet.  "  If  I 
only  dared  to  say  to  you  what  is  in  my  heart." 

"  Is  it  so  difficult  to  speak?  Why  are  you 
afraid?  "     She  laughed,  but  her  voice  trembled. 

"  It  would  not  be  difficult,  if  I  could  put  the 
clock  back  ten  years,  so  that  I  should  stand  ten 
years  nearer  to  you.  Then  I  should  not  be  afraid. 
Now  I  am  afraid,  because  I  am  not  fit  to  ask  for 
your  love — because  I  have  no  right " 

"  No,"  she  interrupted,  her  voice  deepened  by 
a  girl's  innocent  passion  and  wounded  pride;  "  I 
know  it  isn't  that.  It's  because  you  think  I  have 
no  right  to  go  into  your  world — because  you  think 
I'm  not  fit.  I'm  only,  what  you  called  me,  a  sprig 
of  Bush  wattle,  that  you  like  to  play  with  for  a  little 
while,  and  that,  when  you  are  tired  of  it,  you  can 
throw  away.  Oh!  I  understand  very  well,  Mr. 
Kenward.  I  think  I've  got  wiser  about  some  things 
since  I've  known  you — and  Lady  Arthur." 

Her  unconscious  coupling  of  him  with  the 
other  woman  was  again  to  him  like  the  pain  of  a 
sting. 

"  No;  you  don't  understand.     How  could  you 


212 


NULMA. 


understand?  Don't  you  know  how  high  I  rate  you? 
Don't  you  know  that  to  accuse  me  of  any  such  be- 
littling thought  of  you  is  unjust,  cruel?" 

"  I  did  not  know.  I  only  know  that  daddy  and 
I  are  different,  and — and,  it  doesn't  matter." 

"  It  does  matter.  It  matters  all  the  world  to 
me,  anyhow,  that  you  should  at  least  do  me  justice, 
Nulma.  The  truth  was  forced  home  upon  me  when 
I  saw  you  come  into  the  ballroom  this  evening,  so 
radiant  in  your  loveliness  and  your  innocent  girl- 
hood." 

"The  truth?" 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you — that  I  must  not  tell 
you — to-night.     But  to-morrow " 

"  It  is  already  to-morrow,"  Nulma  answered. 
"  Listen." 

The  clock  above  the  School  of  Arts  was  ringing 
out  three. 

"  To-day,  then,  I  will  tell  you,  but  not  now. 
This  afternoon  I'm  coming  out  to  the  Bunyas.  I'm 
coming  to  see  if  the  wattle  is  yet  nearly  in  bloom. 
This  is  August  12,  child,  and  the  eighteenth  is  your 
birthday.  On  your  birthday,  you  said,  the  wattle 
was  always  out." 

Nulma  gave  a  little  shy  laugh. 

"  See,  I  wanted  to  show  you  this  before,  but  you 
wouldn't  let  me  think  you  cared.  I  gathered  it 
to-day." 

She  held  out  her  bouquet,  and,  parting  the  yel- 
low rosebuds  and  the  sprigs  of  jasmine  and  orange 


THE   SPRIG   OF   WATTLE. 


213 


azalea  of  which  it  was  composed,  showed  buried 
in  the  centre  a  little  sprig  of  fluffy  wattle.  She 
drew  it  half  out  from  its  hiding-place. 

"  Give  it  to  me,  Nulma,"  he  said.  "  Give  it  to 
me  in  token  of  something  sweeter  still,  to  keep  till 
to-morrow." 

Nulma  flushed  deeply.  She  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  simply  held  the  sprig  to  him.  Her  brown  eyes 
met  his  straightly.  Kenward  felt  that  he  should 
never  forget  that  look — it  had  the  utter  candour,  the 
pathetic  appeal,  of  a  dog's  eyes  when  he  looks  at 
his  master. 

He  took  the  sprig  of  wattle,  and  was  senti- 
mental enough  to  touch  it  with  his  lips  before  he 
transferred  it  to  his  breast-pocket.  Just  then,  the 
rustle  of  silk  which  had  been  intermittently  sound- 
ing along  the  corridor,  mingling  with  the  distant 
blare  of  the  band,  gave  place  to  a  mocking  little 
laugh  which  Kenward  knew;  and  then  a  voice, 
which  he  knew  too,  spoke. 

"  She  is  here,  you  see,  Mr.  Goodeve;  if  you 
want  to  march  off  with  your  prey,  you  shall  hand 
me  over  to  Mr.  Kenward,  who  will  see  me  safe  back. 
Arthur  is  getting  impatient,  and  the  carriage  is  wait- 
ing." 

Margot  Keefe  advanced.  Kenward  stood  mo- 
tionless as  a  criminal  detected  in  his  crime.  Mar- 
got's  eyes  flashed  at  him  for  an  instant  before  she 
addressed  the  young  girl.  Nulma  turned  to  her 
with   that   rapt,   confiding  look  still   in  her  brown 


214  NULMA. 

eyes.     Lady  Arthur  felt  that  she  could  interpret 
the  look. 

'  We  have  been  hunting  for  you,  my  dear.  I 
wanted  to  ask  you,  before  I  go,  whether  it  will  suit 
you  as  well  if  I  come  for  luncheon  to-morrow,  in- 
stead of  later.  Arthur  has  made  some  plan  with 
the  Governor  for  us  to  go  and  see  the  new  water- 
works in  the  afternoon?" 

'  Why,  of  course  Nulma  will  be  delighted,"  put 
in  Mr.  Goodeve.  "  All  times  are  alike  to  her.  I 
wish  I  could  be  at  the  Bunyas  to  do  the  honours, 
Lady  Arthur;  but  you  must  take  the  girlie  as  she 
is,  and  they'll  give  you  something  to  eat,  anyhow. 
You  might  ask  Mrs.  Perryman  to  come  across, 
Lulu." 

"Oh,  not  for  worlds!"  interrupted  Lady  Ar- 
thur. "  I  have  the  greatest  respect  for  Mrs.  Perry- 
man,  but  it's  Nulma  I  want  to  have  a  chat  with. 
Then,  about  twelve,  for  I  must  get  away  directly 
after  luncheon." 

'  Thank  you,"  replied  Nulma  mechanically. 
"  Oh  yes ;  that  will  do  beautifully."  What  did  any- 
thing matter — up  to  the  afternoon?  Her  sun  would 
not  rise  till  about  five  o'clock. 

'  Lulu,"  said  the  Minister  of  Mines,  "  you  must 
come  along  directly.  I've  lost  my  beauty-sleep;  and 
I've  got  to  be  at  the  office  pretty  early  to-morrow, 
and  we  shall  be  having  an  all-night  sitting  in  the 
House,  most  likely.  Besides,  they'll  be  playing 
'  God  save  the  Queen  '  here  in  a  minute  or  two." 


THE    SPRIG   OF   WATTLE.  21 5 

"  They  won't  be  so  rude  as  to  play  it  till  I've 
gone,"  said  Lady  Arthur.  "  But  it's  time  for  good 
little  girls  to  be  in  bed,  and  for  naughty  grown 
women  too.  Mr.  Kenward,  do  you  mind  taking 
me  back  to  the  ballroom?  I've  something  I  want 
to  say  to  you  before  we  go." 

Kenward  bowed  without  a  word. 

"  Then,  good-night.  Lady  Arthur.  I'm  sure  I'm 
very  much  obliged  to  you  for  all  your  kindness!" 
said  the  Minister  of  Mines.  "  Say  good-night,  Lulu. 
Good-night,  Chief  Justice." 

Nulma  put  out  her  hand  to  Lady  Arthur,  and 
murmured  something  about  expecting  her  on  the 
morrow.    Then  she  turned  to  Kenward. 

"Good-night!" 

"Good-night!"  he  answered.  Lady  Arthur 
watched  the  lingering  contact  of  the  fingers.  "  I 
shall  see  you  to-morrow,"  he  added. 

Nulma  and  her  father  left  the  balcony.  The 
other  two  remained  facing  each  other  for  a  moment 
or  two  in  silence.     Lady  Arthur  spoke  first. 

"  So  the  end  has  come;  and  I  go — to  the  dust- 
heap!  "  she  said. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE   WOMAN    STRIKES. 

Kenward  gazed  miserably  at  his  companion. 
Under  such  circumstances,  the  man's  position  must 
always  be  abject.  He  stands  self-convicted,  a  per- 
jurer, a  traitor  to  sworn  allegiance. 

'  Margot,"  he  said,  "  I  know  that  you  look  upon 
me  as  wholly  false  and  contemptible.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  put  forward  in  extenuation  of  myself  except 
this:  The  position  had  become  impossible,  and  you 
recognised  it  to  be  so  when  you  offered  me  my 
freedom." 

'  Which  you  refused  to  accept,  with  some  ten- 
der protestations.  It's  true,  then;  the  legitimate 
has  conquered,  as  it  always  does  in  the  long-run. 
Do  you  mean  to  tell  her — about  me?" 

;'  Margot,  you  need  not  put  more  daggers  into 
me  than  are  actually  necessary.  .  .  .  Nothing  is  set- 
tled," he  added.  '  I  don't  even  know  that  she  cares 
for  me." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all?  I  am  glad,  at  any  rate,  that 
you  have  had  the  decency  to  give  me  notice  of  my 

216 


THE   WOMAN    STRIKES. 


217 


discharge.  I  wondered  if  you  would  remember 
your  promise." 

"  I  have  not  asked  her  to  marry  me,  if  that's 
what  you  mean,"  he  answered;  "  I  will  not  do  so 
if  you  forbid  it." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  have  no  voice  in  the  matter. 
You  have  made  your  choice.  I  trust  that  the  Fates 
may  send  you  happiness." 

"  It  would  be  more  to  the  purpose,  perhaps,  if 
you  invoked  the  Fates  on  her  behalf,"  he  said  bit- 
terly. 

"  Or  on  poor  Mr.  Van  Vechten's;  he  is  the  per- 
son outside  myself  whom  I  pity  most  in  the  con- 
cern. Now,  Mr.  Kenward,  will  you  take  me  back 
to  my  husband?  " 

;'  Margot,  do  we  part  like  this;  will  you  not  say 
one  kind  word  to  me — one  word  of  forgiveness? 
Let  us  at  least  be  friends." 

"  Friends!  "  she  repeated  in  scorn.  "  How  like 
a  man!  No,  we  are  not  friends;  we  never  have 
been;  we  never  shall  be.  From  the  day  that  you 
become  Nulma  Goodeve's  acknowledged  lover, 
there  will  be  a  great  gulf  fixed  between  you  and 
me.  And  all  the  years  of  my  life  will  have  been 
swallowed  up  in  that  gulf — the  years  of  my  life,  and 
everything  that  made  them  worth  the  living." 

He  gave  a  low  groan. 

"  /  have  done  this  thing  to  you." 

'  You,  and  none  other.  This  was  not  the  end- 
ing you  contemplated,  was  it,  when  you  asked  me 


2i8  NULMA. 

for  that  camellia  bud  at  the  Bourdillons'  ball  three 
years  ago?  I  saw  her  give  you  the  bit  of  wattle; 
but  that's  only  to  be  kept  till  to-morrow.  Well,  I 
was  wiser  than  you ;  1  knew  what  I  was  doing. 
For  me,  the  spectre  stood  always  there  in  the  back- 
ground— even  in  the  good  days — the  spectre  of  the 
young  girl.  And  I  have  watched  it  creep  nearer 
and  nearer,  till  I  have  seen  and  known  that  it  was 
Nulma.  .  .  .  Come,  there's  no  use  in  talking,  and 
Arthur  will  be  wondering.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  he 
were  to  become  melodramatic  now;  that  would  in- 
deed be  an  anticlimax." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  they  walked 
back  to  the  ballroom  in  perfect  silence.  Lord  Ar- 
thur was  watching  for  them,  a  sullen  scowl  on  his 
heavy  face.  He  made  no  remark  to  Kenward,  but 
almost  roughly  took  possession  of  his  wife.  They 
went  home  alone  in  the  carriage,  and  all  the  way 
he  never  spoke  a  word.  But  whether  she  looked 
at  him  or  not,  she  was  conscious  of  his  eyes  with 
that  dull,  ferocious  gleam  in  them,  which  of  late 
had  got  more  and  more  on  her  nerves.  It  fright- 
ened her. 

She  lay  awake  till  the  sun  rose,  calm  and  des- 
perate in  her  desolation;  she  felt  that  she  did  not 
care  what  happened,  so  long  only  that  Nulma  did 
not  become  Outram  Kenward's  wife. 

•  •••••• 

There  was,  however,  nothing  tragic  in  Lady 
Arthur's  appearance  or  manner  when,  dressed  in 


THE   WOMAN    STRIKES.  219 

her  riding-habit,  a  bunch  of  violets  pinned  into  her 
bodice,  her  gold-mounted  whip  in  her  hand,  she 
stepped  on  to  the  veranda  of  the  Bunyas.  Nulma 
was  coming  in  from  the  plantation,  carrying 
some  branches  of  wattle.  She  looked  very  spring- 
like in  a  white  dress,  with  only  a  gauzy  hand- 
kerchief on  her  head.  The  sun  was  bright,  the 
day  hot  for  August,  and  the  roses  on  the 
veranda  were  in  bloom,  while  the  deutzia  was 
putting  forth  its  little  white  spires,  and  the  heavy 
bunya  branches  were  flecked  with  buds  of  shining 
green. 

"  Look,"  said  Nulma,  showing  her  wattle;  "  I 
have  never  known  it  out  so  early  before." 

"  Then  Mr.  Kenward  will  now  be  able  to  finish 
the  picture,"  rejoined  Lady  Arthur.  "  No,  my  dear, 
I  don't  think  I'll  come  in;  it's  pleasanter  sitting 
here,  and  I  shall  keep  my  veil  down,  if  you  please," 
as  Nulma  offered  to  untie  the  gauze  veil  twisted 
round  her  riding-hat.  "  I  can't  afford,  like  you,  to 
defy  the  ravages  of  a  late  night,  and  I'd  rather 
not  exhibit  myself  a  battered  wreck,  with  nothing 
between  me  and  the  light  of  day." 

"  Why,  Lady  Arthur,  you  don't  look  in  the  least 
bit  battered,  and  you  have  more  colour  than  usual. 
There's  no  one  so  beautiful  as  you,"  said  Nulma, 
in  frank  admiration. 

"  Except  a  certain  little  girl,  who  possesses  what 
I   have  lost  for  ever — youth,  freshness,  and   wild- 
flower  charm.     That's  what  appeals,  especially  to 
15 


220  NULMA. 

a  man  like  Outrani  Kenward,  who  has  lived  his  life 
among  women  of  the  old-world  conventional  type, 
and  finds  change  refreshing  for  a  time." 

Nulma  flushed  uneasily.  Lady  Arthur's  words 
and  tone  grated. 

"Why  do  you  say  that  about  Mr.  Kenward?" 
she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Because  we  are  old  friends,  and  I  am  inter- 
ested in  him,  and  anxious  that  his  career  may  be 
successful.  He  had  the  prospect  of  great  things 
if  his  health  had  not  broken  down.  He  would  have 
had  a  seat  in  the  House;  he  might  have  risen  be- 
fore very  long,  perhaps,  to  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet. 
He  would  have  married  a  rich  and  well-born  woman. 
He  may  do  all  this  still — when  he  returns  to  Eng- 
land." 

Lady  Arthur  spoke  very  deliberately.  She  had 
seated  herself  in  a  deep  squatter's  chair  and  leaned 
back,  the  light  gauze  veil  obscuring  her  features, 
except  the  brilliant  eyes,  which  turned  with  slow 
restlessness  from  one  object  to  another,  lying  in 
wait,  as  it  were,  between  her  half-opened  lids.  As 
she  spoke,  she  pulled  to  pieces  a  bit  of  wattle  Nulma 
had  brought  in,  casting  one  downy  ball  after  an- 
other upon  the  floor.  The  action  pained  the  girl, 
and  she  made  an  involuntary  movement  to  protect 
the  remaining  clusters.  But  Lady  Arthur  stretched 
out  her  hand  as  soon  as  she  had  destroyed  one 
spray,  and  took  another,  which  she  began  to  shred 
in  its  turn.     Nulma  could  bear  it  no  longer.     She 


THE   WOMAN    STRIKES.  221 

gathered  up  the  wattle  in  her  hands  and  held  it  on 
her  lap. 

Lady  Arthur  suddenly  bent  a  long,  searching 
look  upon  Nulma. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  am  very  much  interested 
in  you  also.  I  should  be  so  sorry  if  you  were  made 
unhappy." 

'  Will  you  tell  me,  please,  what  you  mean?  " 

"  You  mustn't  be  angry  with  me.  I  am  years 
older  than  you  are.  I  know  the  world.  I  know 
men.  What  is  more  to  the  point,  I  know  Outram 
Kenward.  I  know  that  his  ruling  passion  is  ambi- 
tion, and  that  if  in  a  moment  of  impulse  he  were 
led  into  a  step  likely  afterwards  to  injure  his  career, 
he  would  repent  it  as  long  as  he  lived." 

Nulma  fluttered  like  a  bird  trapped.  "  I  don't 
know  why  you  should  say  that  to  me.  I  am  not 
likely  to  do  anything  which  could  injure  Mr.  Ken- 
ward's  career." 

"  No,  dear,"  said  Lady  Arthur  cruelly.  "  He 
is  more  likely,  I'm  afraid,  to  injure  yours.  Every- 
one can  see  that  he  is  greatly  attracted  by  you; 
and  what  is  more  likely  than  that  you  should  be 
flattered  by  his  attentions,  and  that  you  should 
grow  to  care  for  one  so  brilliant  and  so  well  versed 
in  the  art  of  charming.  But  that  would  be  such 
a  sad  pity,  Nulma." 

"  Would  it  be  a  pity,"  murmured  the  girl,  "  if  he, 
too,  cared?  " 

"  Yes,  it  would  still  be  a  terrible  pity.     Beauti- 


222  NULMA. 

ful  and  delightful  as  you  are,  child,  you  are  too 
young",  too  unsophisticated,  to  hold  him  when  the 
novelty  had  worn  off — that  is,  if  he  were  free  to  ask 
you  to  marry  him." 

'  Free!  "  Nulma  remembered  Kenward's  words 
at  the  ball,  "  I  cannot  tell  you  ...  I  must  not  tell 
you  to-night."  Had  they  meant  that  he  was,  as 
Lady  Arthur  insinuated,  bound  to  another  woman? 
And  if  so,  how  then  could  he  be  free  to  tell  her  of 
his  love  to-day?  She  had  not  thought  much  of  his 
words  at  the  time;  she  had  been  too  deeply  ab- 
sorbed in  the  sweet  sudden  conviction  that  he  loved 
her.  Now  the  words  and  the  image  they  evoked 
seemed  luridly  illuminated  in  her  imagination.  Her 
beseeching  eyes  vaguely  interrogated  Lady  Ar- 
thur. 

'  He  has  not  told  you?  But,  of  course,  how 
should  he?  He  was  not  free  when  he  left  England. 
He  was  bound  to  a  woman  whom  he  loved,  and 
who  loved  him.  I  am  very  sorry  for  that  other 
woman.  I  know  her,  and  I  know  the  blow  his 
faithlessness  would  be  to  her.  I  am  very  sorry 
for  him,  too,  because  I  know  that  in  his  deepest 
heart  he  loves  that  other  woman,  and  would  always 
regret  having  lost  her." 

There  was  silence.  Lady  Arthur  finished  the 
destruction  of  her  wattle  spray.  She  plucked  off 
the  last  tiny  unfledged  ball  and  cast  the  stalk  away 
on  to  the  gravel  path  beyond  the  veranda.  She 
had    a    savage    satisfaction    in    the    fancy    flashing 


THE   WOMAN    STRIKES. 


223 


through  her  mind,  that  the  act  was  typical  of  an- 
other work  of  destruction  just  accomplished. 
She  had  ruthlessly  plucked  away  all  the  tender 
buds  of  a  love  newly  blossoming  in  a  young 
girl's  heart,  and  had  deprived  a  woman's  life 
of  that  which  should  be  its  crowning  joy  and 
sweetness. 

She  stretched  forward  and  patted  the  girl's  hand, 
but  Nulma  shrank  from  the  touch,  her  old  half-feel- 
ing of  antagonism  against  Lady  Arthur  stirred  to 
a  fierce-flaming  repulsion.  What  right  had  the 
woman  to  come  here  and  taunt  and  humiliate 
her  so? 

"  I  have  told  you  the  truth,  my  dear,"  said  Lady 
Arthur  softly.  '  I  don't  pretend  it  is  as  much  for 
your  sake  as  for  his,  and  for  the  sake  of  that  other 
woman  who  has  a  prior  claim  upon  him;  but 
it  is  greatly  for  your  sake,  too,  and  because  I 
think  it  right  that  the  truth  should  be  known  to 
you." 

Then  Nulma  showed  that,  of  whatever  poor, 
plebeian  stuff  she  might  be  made,  it  was  at  least 
not  coward's  stuff.  She  got  up,  drawing  her  tall, 
slim  form  to  its  full  height,  and  lifting  her  little 
stag-head,  with  its  straight,  proud  look,  out  above 
and  beyond  her  tormentor. 

'  Thank  you,  Lady  Arthur.  You  are  very  good ; 
and  I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Kenward  ought  to  be  very 
much  obliged  to  you,  and  that  other  lady,  too. 
But,  you  see,  it  hasn't  mattered  in  the  least,  for  Mr. 


224 


NULMA. 


Kenward  had  never  made  love  to  me  at  all; 
and  if  he  had,  it  would  not  have  made  any  dif- 
ference to  me,  because— I  ought  to  have  told 
you — I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Van 
Vechten." 

'  Brave  baby!  "  murmured  Lady  Arthur  to  her- 
self. 'That  was  well  done."  And  aloud:  "I  con- 
gratulate you,  dearest  Nulma,  with  all  my  heart. 
There  is  no  one  in  Leichardt's  Land  I  like  so  much 
and  respect  so  truly  as  Mr.  Van  Vechten.  You  will 
be  very  happy." 

'  Yes ;  I  shall  be  very  happy,"  repeated  Nulma 
a  little  wildly.  "  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind,  that 
I'll  put  the  wattle  in  water,  as  it  withers  so  soon, 
and  then  I'll  go  and  wash  my  hands  for  luncheon. 
I  was  gardening  when  you  came,  and  it  must  be 
luncheon-time  now." 

She  left  Lady  Arthur  in  the  veranda,  went 
straight  to  the  old  schoolroom  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  where  she  always  arranged  her  flowers,  put 
the  wattle  into  a  vase,  and  carried  it  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. Then  she  went  back  again  into  the 
schoolroom,  sat  down,  and  prepared  to  write.  She 
sat  a  moment  with  her  pen  poised,  and  a  great 
wave  of  pain  swept  over  her,  shaking  her  whole 
body  in  inward  sobbing.  She  hardly  knew  how 
to  bear  the  agony,  and  fought  with  it  as  for 
dear  life,  crushing  down  the  choking  pain  which 
seemed  to  take  away  her  breath.  "  I  must 
not — I  must  not,"  she  kept  saying  to  herself,  and 


THE   WOMAN   STRIKES.  225 

then  dashed  off  her  note.     It  had  no  formal  be- 
ginning. 

"  I  want  to  see  you.  I  must  see  you,  as  soon, 
please,  as  you  can  come — before  four.  Please  come. 
— Nulma." 

This  she  directed  to  Caspar  Van  Vechten  at 
his  office,  and  took  out  to  the  stable-yard,  bidding 
her  father's  groom  ride  at  once  with  it  to  Leichardt's 
Town. 

Luncheon  was  on  the  table  when  she  went  back, 
having  also  washed  her  hands,  smoothed  her  hair, 
and  endeavoured  as  far  as  she  could  to  hide  the 
traces  of  that  recent  horrible  pain,  which  remained 
still  upon  her  face,  and  gave  it  a  curiously  wan  and 
tense  look,  out  of  keeping  with  its  girlish  contours. 
To  her  relief,  Luce  Perryman  was  sitting  in  the 
veranda  with  Lady  Arthur.  Luce  had  not  been  in- 
vited, but  invitations  to  meals  were  not  necessary 
formalities  between  Wirrib  and  the  Bunyas,  and 
Luce  was  very  much  in  the  habit  of  running  in  to 
share  Nulma's  luncheon  when  she  felt  in  a  mood 
for  a  gossip.  She  would  have  run  away  now,  for 
she  was  afraid  of  Lady  Arthur,  but  Nulma  insisted 
upon  her  remaining. 

They  talked  mostly  of  the  ball,  of  the  decora- 
tions, of  the  dresses,  Luce  shyly  referring  to  Lady 
Arthur,  Nulma  chattering  with  the  audacity  of  des- 
peration.     Very   soon   Lady   Arthur  ordered   her 


226  NULMA. 

horse  and  bade  the  girls  farewell,  kissing  Nulma, 
and  whispering  as  she  did  so: 

'  Is  it  a  secret,  my  dear,  or  may  I  tell  the  Gov- 
ernor?    He  will  be  so  interested." 

'  Not  quite  yet,  please.  Everybody  will  know 
it  very  soon,  but  not  quite  yet." 

'  Very  well.  You  shall  come,  then,  yourself 
and  tell  the  Governor;  I  shall  write  to  you  and 
fix  a  day  for  luncheon,  and  perhaps  for  the  last  sit- 
ting, now  that  the  wattle  is  out." 

The  two  girls  were  alone.  Nulma  took  long 
strides  up  and  down  the  veranda,  walking  like  one 
possessed. 

'  What  is  it,  Lulu? "  cried  Luce  anxiously. 
'  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  You  look  queer, 
somehow.  And  what  did  Lady  Arthur  mean? 
What  is  it  that  you  are  to  tell  the  Governor  your- 
self? Oh,  my  goodness,  Lulu!  "  she  called  out,  for 
the  girl  would  not  pause  in  her  wild  walk.    "  It  isn't 

— they  were  saying  last  night Oh,  Lulu,  you're 

not  engaged  to  the  Chief  Justice,  are  you?  You'd 
have  surely  told  me  before  anybody  else?  " 

;'  No,  no,  no!  "  shrieked  Nulma.  "  And  for  what 
should  I  tell  you  first?  Why  should  I  tell  you  any- 
thing? Go  away,  Luce.  I  don't  want  to  talk  to-day. 
I  want  to  be  by  myself." 

"Something  has  happened!"  exclaimed  Luce. 

'  I  know  it.    And  you  look  as  if  for  two  pins  you'd 

burst  out  crying  .  .  .  and  you  won't  tell  me  whether 

you're  engaged  or  not.    I  think  it's  awfully  unkind, 


THE   WOMAN   STRIKES.  227 

Nulma,  when  I  came  over  here  this  morning  ex- 
pressly  to   tell   you "   and    Luce   blushed,    and 

hung  her  untidy  flaxen  head. 

"  What — that  you  are  engaged,  is  it?  I  guessed 
as  much  last  night.  Malcolm  Derrett,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  You  know  it  couldn't  be  anyone  but  Malcolm. 
It  was  last  night.  And  mother  is  so  angry,  and 
says  I  must  be  silly  to  think  of  marrying  a  bank 
clerk  on  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year;  and 
that  it's  throwing  away  my  chances,  when  there's 
you  that  everyone  says  has  managed  to  catch  the 
Chief  Justice." 

"  Luce,  be  silent!"  cried  poor  tortured  Nulma. 
"  You  are  wrong;  and  it's  an  insult  to  me  for  people 
to  be  saying  such  things.  Go  away.  Oh,  I  don't 
mean  to  be  unkind.  I'm  sure  that  I  congratulate 
you — on  Malcolm  Derrett.  I'm  glad  you  are  so 
fond  of  one  another.  But  I've  got  other  things  to 
think  of  now,  and  I  want  to  be  alone." 

Luce  departed  angry  and  aggrieved. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  come  over  you,  Nulma," 
she  cried  in  sobbing  reproach.  "  It's  ever  since 
you've  been  taken  up  and  spoiled  by  all  that  Gov- 
ernment House  lot;  and  now  you  haven't  a  word 
for  your  old  friends." 

But  Nulma  went  on  unheedingly. 

She  was  still  pacing  the  veranda  like  some  rest- 
less, wounded  creature  when  Van  Vechten  rode  up. 
He  had  lost  no  time  in  answering  her  summons. 


228  NULMA. 

He  dismounted,  and,  calling  the  groom  to  take  the 
horse,  went  up  to  her,  startled  by  something  un- 
usual in  her  face  and  expression.  Nulma  gave  a 
little  cry,  and  put  her  hands  in  his,  leading  him  into 
the  drawing-room. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Van,  it  was  like  you  to  come  at 
once!  " 

"  Of  course  I  have  come  at  once.  Don't  you 
know  that  I  would  fly  to  the  end  of  the  world  if  you 
sent  for  me?  What  is  it,  Nulma,  my  child?  My 
little  darling,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"  You  can  marry  me,  Uncle  Van.  That's  what 
I  want;  that's  what  I've  sent  to  you  for.  I  want 
you  to  say  that  you'll  marry  me." 

"  Nulma,  this  isn't  a  joke,  is  it?  What  do  you 
mean?  Why  send  for  me  in  such  a  strange,  wild 
way  to  tell  me — that?  Child,  has  anything  hap- 
pened to  you?  Speak,  Nulma.  Tell  me,  has  any- 
one hurt  or  insulted  you?  " 

"  Yes;  I've  been  hurt,  Uncle  Van — I've  been 
insulted.  No;  I  don't  suppose  she  meant  that. 
Don't  ask  me;  it  doesn't  matter  now." 

"She!  There's  a  woman  in  it,  then?  Well,  I 
will  ask  you  nothing  that  you'd  rather  not  tell; 
only  don't  play  with  me,  Nulma,  my  dear.  That 
hurts,  too." 

"  I'm  not  playing  with  you,  Uncle  Van.  I 
wouldn't  hurt  you  for  the  whole  world;  I  care  for 
you  too  much." 

With  a  quick,  passionate  movement  Van  Vech- 


THE   WOMAN    STRIKES. 


229 


ten  lifted  up  her  two  hands,  and  held  them  crushed 
against  his  breast. 

"  Nulma,"  he  said,  "  don't  tell  me  things  like 
that  unless  you  mean  them,  my  dear.  If  you  do 
mean  that,  you  make  me  very  happy." 

"  Of  course  I  mean  it.  I  sent  for  you  in  such 
a  hurry  because  there  isn't  much  time,  because  I 
want  to  be  able  to  say  this  afternoon  that  I'm  going 
to  be  your  wife.  I've  said  it  already.  I've  told  Lady 
Arthur.  You  won't  throw  me  over  now,  Uncle 
Van?     You  promised " 

"I  promised!"  he  repeated  bewilderedly. 

"Ah!  don't  you  remember?  We  both  prom- 
ised. You  said  that  if  I  should  ever  find  out  that 
I  wanted  to  marry  you,  and  were  to  come  to  you 
and  tell  you  frankly,  you'd  take  me,  and  be  the 
proudest,  happiest  man  on  earth.  Those  were  your 
words,  Uncle  Van.  And  so  I  do  now  come  to  you 
frankly,  and  tell  you  that  I  want  to  marry  you. 
Won't  you  keep  your  promise?  You  didn't  make 
any  conditions;  it  was  to  be  a  bargain  between  us. 
Won't  you  take  me?  " 

'  Yes,  I  will  keep  my  promise,  Nulma.  I  will 
take  you  as  my  wife  under  any,  every,  or  no 
conditions.  I  shall  be  the  happiest  and  proud- 
est man  on  earth.  I  shall  love  you  till  my 
dying  day,  and  I  will  do  my  best  to  earn  your 
love." 

'  Thank  you,  Uncle  Van."  His  solemnity  awed 
her,  and  there  was  a  pledge  in  her  brown  eyes.    "  I, 


!30 


NULMA. 


too,  will  do  my  best  to  be  a  true  and  loving  wife 
to  you,"  she  answered. 

"  Nulma,"  he  said,  still  with  great  solemnity, 
"  do  you  know  what  it  means — this  marrying,  this 
giving  of  yourself  for  life  to  one  man,  and  one  man 
only?     For  life,  Nulma,  remember." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl  sadly ;  "  I  know  now  what 
it  means.  I  didn't  quite  before  when  you  asked 
me;  I  do  now." 

Her  tone  stirred  a  new  dread  in  him,  which  he 
knew  would  ever  stand  between  him  and  her.  The 
dread  forced  him  to  speak. 

"  Nulma,  there  were  to  be  no  conditions,  and  I 
make  none.  I  only  beg  you  to  tell  me  whether  you 
are  doing  this  because  you  have  chosen  me  from 
all  other  men  as  the  one  you  most  care  for — the 
one  you  trust  most  implicitly;  or  whether  it  is  out 
of  some  womanish  impulse — pique,  perhaps — be- 
cause some  other  man  whom  you  do  love  has 
wounded  your  pride  and  treated  you  badly?  Tell 
me,  Nulma." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Van.  I'll  tell  you  that  I  do  care 
for  you,  and  that  I  trust  you  beyond  any  other  man 
in  the  world.     Is  that  enough?" 

"  It  is  enough.  And  so  I  take  you,  Nulma,  for 
my  promised  wife."  He  put  his  arms  round  her, 
and,  drawing  her  close  to  his  breast,  kissed  her  on 
her  lips  long  and  tenderly;  he  drew  her  to  the  sofa 
and  made  her  sit  by  him.  "  Nulma,"  he  said, 
"  from  to-day  our  relation  towards  each  other  is  a 


THE   WOMAN    STRIKES.  23 1 

totally  different  one.    We  shall  never  be  the  same 
again." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Van." 

There  was  something  to  him  inexpressibly  sweet 
in  the  shy  movement  by  which  she  marked  her 
sense  of  the  new  relation,  putting  her  hand  softly 
on  his,  and  then  on  the  dangling  seal  and  pencil- 
case  which  hung  from  his  watch-chain,  which  she 
played  with  timidly. 

"Is  that  your  crest,  Uncle  Van?" 

"  You  mustn't  call  me  Uncle  Van  any  more, 
dearest;  it  isn't  natural  now." 

"What  shall  I  call  you?" 

"  By  my  name — Caspar.     Say  it,  Nulma." 

"Caspar.  It's  a  nice  name;  I  like  it.  Caspar 
Van  Vechten.  I  shall  be  Nulma  Van  Vechten. 
That's  prettier  than  Nulma  Goodeve." 

"  /  shall  certainly  think  it  so,  my  dear." 

"  Caspar,  there's  something  I  want  you  to  do 
for  me.    Will  you  do  it?  " 

"  I'll  try." 

"  I  wan't  you  to  persuade  daddy  to  go  away 
for  a  change,  and  to  take  me  with  him.  There's 
the  Intercolonial  Congress  now  at  Melbourne. 
They  asked  him  to  go,  and  he  was  talking  about 
it  the  other  day;  and  I  said  I'd  rather  stay  here, 
and  so  he  decided  to  refuse;  but  I'd  like  to  go. 
I'd  like  to  get  away  from  Leichardt's  Town  now  at 
once;  and  I  could  get  my  trousseau  in  Melbourne, 
and  perhaps  you  could  come  too.    Will  you  talk  to 


232 


NULMA. 


him,  and  put  it  all  right?    Don't  you  think  it  would 
be  a  good  thing,  Caspar." 

'  Yes,  I  think  it  might  be  a  very  good  thing," 
he  answered  slowly.  "  I  will  see  what  I  can  do 
about  it.  I  have  no  doubt  that,  even  if  one  of  the 
other  Ministers  has  settled  to  go,  the  thing  could 
be  altered." 

"  And,  Caspar,  when  you  go  away,  will  you  call 
at  the  Mines  office,  and  will  you  tell  daddy?  And 
then — you  can  tell  anyone  else  you  please.  I'd  like 
them  all  to  know." 

He  looked  at  her  flushed  face  anxiously.  Her 
eagerness  for  publicity  fretted  him,  and  stirred  up 
that  dread  which  was  the  drop  of  gall  in  his  happi- 
ness. But  he  was  glad,  too,  that  her  mind  was  so 
firmly  fixed.  She  meant  to  give  herself  no  chance 
of  wavering.  And  what  did  it  matter,  even  if  her 
girlish  fancy  had  been  touched,  her  girlish  pride 
wounded?  He  had  not  expected  anything  from 
her  but  a  childish  affection,  which  it  should  be  his 
one  care  and  joy  to  ripen  into  a  woman's  enduring 
love.  He  was  not  afraid;  once  she  was  his  wife,  all 
the  rest  would  fade  into  a  dream  of  the  morning. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  call  upon  all  the  Ministers, 
and  all  the  heads  of  departments,  and  all  the  bank 
managers,  and  .proclaim  aloud  that  I  am  the  proud- 
est and  happiest  man  ki  the  world?"  he  asked,  with 
his  slow  smile.  '  I  am  quite  pleased  to  do  it,  if  it 
will  give  you  any  satisfaction." 

"  No,  no!  but  you  know  what  I  mean.     And 


THE   WOMAN    STRIKES.  233 

you  will  tell  daddy — I  want  daddy  to  know  before 
he  gets  back  this  evening.  And  I  want  everything 
to  be  settled  about  the  conference,  and  our  going 
to  Melbourne.     You  had  better  go  now,  Caspar." 

"  Yes,  dear;  I  have  business  to  attend  to.  And 
I  will  come  again  this  evening." 

He  kissed  her  again  and  left  her. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

nx>lma's  fate. 

NtrLMA  would  not  give  herself  time  to  break 
down  before  four  o'clock  arrived.  She  walked  in 
the  garden ;  she  gathered  flowers ;  she  fed  the  Arab 
in  the  stables;  she  fidgeted  about  the  drawing- 
room;  she  ran  races  with  the  dogs,  and  when  Ken- 
ward  appeared,  she  came  in,  her  cheeks  pink,  her 
eyes  bright,  radiant,  he  thought,  with  happiness 
and  expectation.  He  himself  looked  haggard  and 
anxious.  Such  of  the  night  as  had  been  left  him 
after  the  ball  he  had  passed  sleeplessly.  Margot 
Keefe's  words  haunted  him,  and  Margot  Keefe's 
image  continually  effaced  in  his  imagination  that 
sweet  girlish  face,  upon  which  his  fancy  loved  to 
dwell.  But  the  thing  was  done.  He  loved  Nulma; 
he  meant  to  make  her  his  wife.  As  soon  as  was 
practicable,  he  would  throw  up  his  appointment 
and  take  her  to  England,  where,  away  from  Mar- 
got Keefe's  influence,  he  would  begin  a  new  life. 

He  held  out  both  hands  to  Nulma.  She  came 
forward  constrainedly.     The  eager  words  died  on 

234 


NULMA'S    FATE. 


235 


his  lips.      '  I  have  come "  he  began.     Then  he 

saw  that  she  held  out  her  right  hand  only,  and  that 
her  face  had  changed.  The  colour  had  died  out 
of  it,  and  her  soft  child's  lips  were  resolutely  set. 
He  stopped,  released  her  hand,  then  deliberately 
felt  in  his  pocket,  and  took  out  a  little  pocket-book, 
bound  in  silver,  with  his  monogram  upon  it.  It 
had  been  Margot  Keefe's  Christmas  present  to  him. 
This  thought  struck  him  now — it  had  not  occurred 
to  him  before — and  he  hated  himself  for  having 
placed  Nulma's  keepsake  within  it.  He  took  out 
the  bit  of  wattle  and  held  it  to  her.  "  I  told  you 
that  I  was  coming  to  give  you  this  to-day — to  ask 
you  to  give  me  something  instead  of  it." 

Nulma  took  the  wattle.  It  had  still  a  faint 
fragrance,  that  inexpressibly  mournful  fragrance  of 
dead  flowers  which  has  something  in  common  with 
the  melancholy  of  a  waltz  air.  A  rush  of  emotion 
came  over  her — the  same  choking  emotion  which 
she  had  felt  in  the  old  school-room  when  writing 
to  Van  Vechten.  At  any  cost  she  must  strangle 
it.  Impulsively  she  wTalked  to  the  fireplace,  where 
there  was  a  fire  of  logs  smouldering,  and  dropped 
the  bit  of  wattle  into  the  heart  of  it,  where  a  red 
glow  still  remained  among  the  white  ashes. 

Kenward  followed  her,  his  face  grim  with  anger. 
"  Is  that  your  answer?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Nulma  did  not  reply.     She  dared  not  look  at 
him.     She  stooped,  took  the  poker  and  poked  the 
piece  of  wattle  further  in  among  the  ashes. 
16 


236  NULMA. 

"  Miss  Goodeve,"  said  Kenward,  "  oil  my  way 
out  here  Mr.  Latham  joined  me,  and  told  me  a 
piece  of  news  I  did  not  believe,  which  he  said  had 
only  just  been  made  public  to-day.  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  now  if  it  is  true." 

He  waited. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  she  faltered,  still 
without  looking  at  him. 

"  You  would  know  at  once  if  it  were  true.  He 
told  me  that  your  engagement  to  Mr.  Van  Vechten 
had  just  been  announced.     Is  it  true?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  Nulma  answered. 

"  Was  it  true  last  night?" 

Nulma  kept  obstinate  silence. 

"  Was  it  true  when  you  gave  me  that  piece  of 
wattle?" 

But  still  Nulma  did  not  answer. 

"  I  see,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  I  must  beg  your 
pardon  for  having  entirely  misjudged  you.  You 
have  nothing  to  learn  in  the  art  of  coquetry  from 
your  sisters  on  the  other  side  of  the  Pacific.  Al- 
most thou  hadst  persuaded  me  to  be  a  believer  in 
unsophisticated  womanhood.  I  apologize  to  you 
for  not  having  done  you  justice." 

Then  Nulma  turned  on  him,  her  great  brown 
eyes  ablaze. 

"  You  are  cruel!  you  are  false!  "  she  said.  "  You 
are  not  like  Caspar  Van  Vechten.  You  don't  know 
how  to  be  true  to  a  woman!  I  thought  I  cared 
for  you  for  a  little  while,  but  only  for  a  little  while. 


NULMA'S   FATE.  237 

You  would  have  got  tired  of  me.  I  don't  respect 
you.  I  respect  Mr.  Van  Yechten.  I  am  going  to 
marry  him." 

"  Then,"  said  Kenward,  "  there  is  nothing  more 
to  be  said,  except  that  I  congratulate  you  upon  a 
choice  which  must  undoubtedly  prove  for  your 
happiness.     Good-bye." 

He  took  up  his  hat,  bowed  formally,  and  left 
her  without  even  touching  her  hand.  To  him  Nul- 
ma  was  now  the  embodiment  of  a  finished  coquette, 
and  his  dreams  of  girlish  faith  and  purity  were 
rudely  dispelled.  He  did  not  for  a  moment  imag- 
ine that  the  engagement  had  only  taken  place  that 
day.  He  could  conceive  of  no  development  of  cir- 
cumstances by  which  it  could  have  been  brought 
so  suddenly  about,  nor  did  it  occur  to  him  that 
Lady  Arthur  could  have  been  in  any  way  instru- 
mental in  the  ruin  of  his  tender  hopes.  He  simply 
accepted  it  as  a  fact  that  Nulma  and  Van  Vechten 
had  always  been  more  or  less  formally  engaged — 
her  own  remark  to  him  in  the  beginning  of  their 
acquaintance  had  seemed  to  imply  the  fact.  Flat- 
tered by  his  own  evident  preference,  she  had 
flirted  with  him,  her  apparent  innocent  candour 
having  been  part  of  the  panoply  of  conquest;  then, 
having  brought  him  up  to  the  point  of  a  declara- 
tion, and,  her  vanity  being  satisfied,  she  had  calmly 
decided  that  Van  Vechten  was  more  to  her  liking 
and  the  best  match  of  the  two.  Thus  he  reasoned. 
Of   course,   Van   Vechten    was   the   better   match. 


238 


NULMA. 


Though  he  himself  was  Chief  Justice  and  had  a 
certain  English  prestige,  Van  Vechten  had  the 
reputation  of  solid  wealth.  The  Minister  of 
Mines  doubtless  had  good  opportunities  of  gaug- 
ing the  merchant's  fortune,  and,  with  the  long- 
headed shrewdness  of  the  self-made  man,  had 
probably  assisted  his  daughter  in  making  her 
choice. 

So,  with  these  bitter  thoughts,  Kenward  tried 
to  dismiss  poor  Nulma  and  her  romance.  Next 
day  all  Leichardt's  Town  was  talking  of  the  engage- 
ment, and  most  people  said  that  there  was  nothing 
surprising  in  it,  and  that  it  had  been  a  foregone 
conclusion  ever  since  Nulma  had  been  grown  up. 
Still,  people  were  surprised,  all  the  same,  for  of 
late  there  had  been  no  gossip  about  Nulma,  except 
in  connection  with  the  Chief  Justice's  evident  pref- 
erence and  Caspar  Van  Vechten's  disappointment. 
Certain  persons — Mrs.  Degraves  and  the  President 
of  the  Chamber  among  them — had  begun  to  wonder 
whether  Mr.  Van  Vechten  would  console  himself 
with  the  object  of  Lady  Randal's  former  manceu- 
vrings,  and  poor  Justin  Blaize  had  suffered  from 
Miss  Degraves'  coldness  in  consequence.  Now 
Miss  Degraves  beamed  more  friendly  glances  upon 
her  Bush  admirer,  and  Justin  Blaize  was  happy  ac- 
cordingly. 

It  happened  just  then  that  the  little  group  of 
prominent  people  broke  up,  and  social  gaieties 
flagged.   Lady  Arthur  had  a  neuralgic  attack,  which 


NULMA'S    FATE. 


239 


prevented  her  from  giving  her  weekly  reception, 
or  from  sending  to  Nulma  that  invitation  to  lunch- 
eon of  which  she  had  spoken,  and  nothing  more 
was  heard  of  the  final  sitting  for  the  portrait.  Then 
there  was  a  public  function  up-country — the  laying 
of  a  foundation-stone,  at  which  the  Governor  and 
various  official  personages  were  present;  so  that 
the  Court  removed,  so  to  speak,  from  the  capital, 
and,  instead  of  coming  back,  took  up  its  quarters 
at  a  summer  residence  of  the  Governor's,  where,  as 
the  Leichardt's  Town  Observer  put  it,  "  our  beau- 
tiful and  indefatigable  chatelaine  of  Government 
House  will  have  leisure  to  recruit  after  the  fatigues 
of  a  too  arduous  season." 

The  same  chronicler  went  on  to  lament  the  early 
breaking-up  of  social  festivities,  which  was  perhaps 
partly  the  result  of  a  recently-given-out  engage- 
ment, Miss  Nulma  Goodeve,  the  life  and  soul  of  all 
this  winter's  parties,  having  arranged  to  accom- 
pany her  father,  the  Minister  of  Mines,  to  Mel- 
bourne on  the  occasion  of  the  Intercolonial  Con- 
ference, for  which  he  had  been  chosen  as  delegate, 
and,  to  the  regret  of  the  Leichardt's  Town  faiscurs 
(the  Leichardt's  Town  Observer's  ladies'  column 
was  always  Ouidaesque  in  its  phrases),  Miss  Good- 
eve  had  announced  her  intention  of  purchasing  the 
greater  part  of  her  trousseau  in  Melbourne.  Com- 
ment was  also  made  upon  the  fact  that  Lady  Arthur 
Keefe,  with  a  praiseworthy  loyalty  to  local  indus- 
tries, had  ordered  her  summer  gowns  from  the  es- 


240  NULMA. 

tablishment  of  Messrs.  Barnard  and  Baxter,  in 
Victoria  Street. 

The  Chief  Justice,  too,  shortly  after  the  bache- 
lors' ball,  went  to  pay  a  visit  on  the  Ubi  Downs,  and 
to  take  part  in  a  great  kangaroo  battle  at  the  foot 
of  the  Ubi  Mountains.  Thus  it  happened  that 
Nulma  saw  neither  Lady  Arthur  nor  Kenward 
again  before  she  left  for  Melbourne  with  her  father. 

Fate  is  given  to  uneven  stridings.  For  a  long 
time  she  may  stand  still,  sometimes  she  may  saun- 
ter, but  occasionally  she  goes  galloping.  In  this 
story  of  Nulma's  girlhood,  just  now  the  march  of 
Fate  quickened  day  by  day,  week  by  week;  and 
it  sometimes  seemed  to  the  girl  as  though  every- 
thing which  had  ever  happened  and  ever  could 
happen  to  her  was  crowded  into  that  brilliant,  sad 
September  which  she  spent  in  Melbourne  with  her 
daddy  and  Caspar  Van  Vechten. 

It  was  the  Minister  of  Mines  last  spring,  and 
the  great  dinner  to  the  delegates  at  the  opening 
of  the  conference  was  the  last  official  entertainment 
which  he  ever  attended. 

The  day  after  the  dinner  he  went  on  a  boating 
excursion  with  Nulma,  Van  Vechten,  and  two  Mel- 
bourne friends.  A  thunderstorm  sprang  up;  every- 
one was  drenched  to  the  skin;  the  boat's  return 
was  delayed,  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  sit- 
ting for  several  hours  in  wet  clothes,  exposed  to 
a  piercing  wind  which  followed  the  storm,  brought 
on  the  attack  of  pneumonia  that  killed  him.     No 


NULMA'S   FATE.  24 1 

one  else  took  any  serious  harm.  Nulma  caught  a 
slight  cold,  and  one  of  the  Melbourne  friends  had 
a  touch  of  rheumatism.  It  was  as  though  Fate  had 
singled  out  the  strongest,  apparently,  of  the  party 
for  a  victim. 

He  was  ill  for  eleven  days.  On  the  tenth  the 
crisis  came,  and  when  it  was  over  he  sank  from  ex- 
haustion. So  serious  from  the  first  were  the  symp- 
toms, that  Van  Vechten  telegraphed  to  Mr.  Latham ; 
and  as  it  happened  that  there  were  certain  political 
complications  in  regard  to  the  conference  requiring 
action  on  the  part  of  the  Leichardt's  Land  delegate, 
the  Premier  himself  came  down  to  Melbourne, 
bringing  his  wife  with  him.  They  arrived  on  the 
very  day  on  which  James  Goodeve  died. 

The  ex-carrier's  end  was  peaceful.  In  his  de- 
lirium he  babbled  of  the  Western  plains,  of  his 
Jenny  and  the  children,  and  the  home  in  the  bullock 
dray  on  the  top  of  the  wool  bales.  No  coarse  lan- 
guage, no  bullock-driver's  oaths,  came  from  his 
lips.  When  he  blasphemed,  his  blasphemies  were 
only  gentle  girdings  against  Providence  because  the 
bullocks  had  strayed,  or  the  creeks  were  up,  or  the 
goat  had  gone  dry,  so  that  there  was  no  milk  for 
the  children.  For  the  tragedy  which  had  darkened 
his  life  he  had  no  reproach  now  against  Providence; 
Jenny  was  always  with  him,  and  the  babies  were 
yet  alive. 

So  James  Goodeve  died,  and  went  to  join  his 
Jenny,  far  from  the  Western  Bush  where  she  lay 


242  NULMA. 

buried.  He  died  in  the  hotel  at  Melbourne,  and 
he  had  a  great  funeral,  and  all  the  intercolonial 
delegates  followed  his  coffin.  The  flags  on  the  pub- 
lic buildings  were  at  half-mast,  and  during  the  pro- 
cession the  shops  were  closed.  Caspar  Van  Vech- 
ten  was  the  chief  mourner;  he  walked  beside  Mr. 
Latham,  who  was  now  acting  as  a  kind  of  guardian 
to  Nulma.  He  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  guardian 
appointed  by  her  father's  will  in  conjunction  with 
Caspar  Van  Vechten.  The  will  had  been  made 
just  before  the  dead  Minister  had  left  Leichardt's 
Town  on  his  last  journey,  and  a  few  days  after  the 
announcement  of  Nulma's  engagement  to  Caspar. 
It  was  as  though  Mr.  Goodeve  had  had  a  presenti- 
ment of  his  approaching  end. 

When  the  funeral  was  over,  Van  Vechten  went 
back  to  Nulma.  She  was  alone  in  the  ugly,  glar- 
ing sitting-room,  with  its  soiled  red  velvet  uphol- 
stery, its  gilding  and  crude  carpet,  a  pitiable  object 
in  her  deep  black,  her  face  pinched  and  white,  her 
eyes  red-rimmed  and  lustreless,  and  hardly  any- 
thing of  the  old  bright  Nulma  remaining  as  it  had 
been,  except  her  untidy  mass  of  yellow-brown  hair. 

Van  Vechten  took  her  in  his  arms.  He  had  not 
seen  her  since  they  had  stood  together  by  her  fa- 
ther's death-bed,  and  James  Goodeve  had  whispered 
with  laboured  breath. 

'  You  will  marry — as— soon  as  possible." 
'  My  poor  darling!  "   he   said,   and   kissed   her 
many  times,  and  soothed  and  comforted  her.    With 


NULMA'S   FATE.  243 

her  arms  round  his  necks  clinging  to  him,  her  face 
buried  in  his  shoulder,  she  gave  way  to  a  passionate 
burst  of  grief. 

"I  made  Airs.  Latham  go,"  she  sobbed;  '  I 
wanted  to  see  you  alone.  I  felt  I  couldn't  bear  it 
any  longer.  Oh,  Caspar,  I  want  to  go  away  from 
this  horrible  place.  Why  did  I  ever  persuade  him 
to  come?  Why  didn't  I  let  him  keep  to  his  refusal? 
It's  I  that  have  killed  him.  Oh,  Caspar,  take  me 
away;  take  me  to  the  Bunyas." 

"  I  have  been  talking  to  Mrs.  Latham  about 
it,"  he  said,  making  her  sit  by  his  side  while  he 
kept  his  arms  round  her.  "  I  knew  how  you  would 
feel ;  but  the  conference  isn't  nearly  over,  you  know, 
and  I  can  see  that  she  doesn't  care  to  leave  her  hus- 
band. I  was  thinking  how  it  would  be  if  we  tele- 
graphed for  Mrs.  Perryman  and  Luce.  Of  course, 
it  need  not  be  a  question  of  expense  to  them,  and 
you'd  have  your  old  friends  with  you." 

"  Mrs.  Perryman  would  drive  me  mad,"  ex- 
claimed Nulma;  "and  as  for  Luce,  she  would  talk 
all  day  of  Malcolm  Derrett,  just  as  she  writes  of 
nothing  else  now." 

"  Then,  I  don't  know  what  we  can  do  except 
wait  for  Mrs.  Latham,"  said  Caspar  doubtfully, 
"  unless " 

"Unless  what?     Can't  you  take  me,  Caspar?" 

The  man's  still  face  twitched  slightly.  This 
was  almost  the  only  mark  of  emotion  Caspar  Van 
Vechten  ever  showed. 


?44 


NUI.MA. 


'  I  can't  take  you  as  you  are,  Nulma.  I  could 
only  take  you  if  you  were  my  wife." 

'  Well,"  she  said  impatiently,  "  let  it  be  that, 
then,  lie  wanted  it.  The  last  thing"  he  said — was 
that.     You  can  do  it  when  you  like,  Caspar." 

'  Nulma,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  know  what  it 
means  to  you — and  to  me.  Are  you  sure,  child, 
that  you  wish  it?  " 

"  Why  not?  He  wished  it.  It  need  not  be  a 
grand  wedding,  Caspar.  I  don't  want  a  white  frock 
and  bridesmaids,  and  all  that.  Why  mightn't  it  be 
done  here,  now,  and  only  the  Lathams  know — in 
some  quiet  church,  and  then  you  could  take  me 
away?  " 

"  It  could  be  done,  though  not  quite  so  easily 
as  you  fancy."  He  explained  to  her  the  formalities 
necessary  on  account  of  the  difference  in  their 
creeds.  "  Then  you  would  be  all  mine,  Nulma — 
my  own  wife;  and  I  will  make  you  love  me." 

"  But  I  am  very  fond  of  you,  Caspar,"  she  re- 
plied simply.  "  You  are  always  so  kind,  and  you 
understand,  and  I  can  say  anything  to  you.  I 
should  never  be  afraid  of  telling  you  anything,  for 
I  should  know  you'd  understand  and  help  me — 
whatever  happened." 

"  Yes;  I  should  always  help  you — whatever  hap- 
pened. Nulma,"  he  said  presently,  "  there's  some- 
thing else  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about.  I  sup- 
pose, dear,  you  don't  know  it,  but  you  are  a  rich 
woman." 


NULMA'S   FATE.  245 

"  Am  I,  Caspar?  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  much, 
does  it?" 

"  Xo,  it  doesn't  matter.  I  am  not  badly  off  my- 
self, and  there  can  be  no  imputation  upon  me  for 
having  married  an  heiress.  We  will  go  to  England 
by-and-by — whenever  you  like— and  you  shall  see 
and  do  everything  you  have  ever  dreamed  of.  Why 
do  you  sigh  so.  dearest?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Caspar.  Only  I  don't  seem 
to  want  now  to  see  all  those  things  in  England. 
Still,  I'm  glad  I'm  rich.  I  shall  be  able  to  give 
Luce  her  trousseau:  that  was  a  great  trouble  with 
Mrs.  Perryman." 

"  You  will  be  rich  enough  to  do  a  great  deal 
more  than  that,  if  you  like.  Your  poor  father  has 
left  more  property,  I  imagine,  than  people  had  any 
idea  of.  You  are  the  chief  shareholder  in  Goodeve's 
Consolation  Reef,  and  the  owner  of  a  great  deal  of 
land  in  Leichardt's  Town  besides." 

Nulma  did  not  seem  deeply  interested  in  the 
tale  of  her  wealth,  and  Van  Vechten  said  no  more. 
After  all,  as  she  had  remarked,  it  did  not  greatly 
matter.  Van  Vechten  had  a  long  talk  with  Mr. 
Latham,  who  was  glad  to  be  relieved  of  his  responsi- 
bilities, and  was  highly  in  favour  of  an  immediate 
and  quietly-conducted  marriage.  Only  Mrs.  Latham 
who  had  strong  religious  views,  and  whose  only 
objection  to  Van  Vechten  lay  in  the  fact  of  his 
being  a  Roman  Catholic,  demurred  a  little  at  the 
idea  of  the  two  ceremonies. 


246  NULMA. 

Everything  was,  however,  arranged  in  its  due 
course  and  order.  The  forlorn  little  bride,  dressed 
in  her  deep  mourning,  and  accompanied  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Latham,  met  Caspar  at  the  church,  where, 
without  parade,  she  was  married  according  to  one 
rite,  and  then  they  proceeded  to  the  other  church, 
and  left  it,  man  and  wife,  together.  Afterwards  they 
drove  straight  to  the  steamer  in  which  their  pas- 
sages had  been  taken  to  Sydney. 

Nulma  was  unembarrassed,  unemotional,  appar- 
ently undisturbed  by  any  qualms  over  the  mo- 
mentous step  she  was  taking.  She  cried  a  little 
in  the  fly  when  she  talked  to  Mr.  Latham  about  her 
father;  but  she  said  that  she  knew  Caspar  would 
be  kind  to  her,  as  her  daddy  had  been,  and  that 
her  great  comfort  was  that  he  had  wished  it  always. 

Mrs.  Latham  told  her  husband  that  she  had 
never  seen  so  strange  a  bride  as  Nulma. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  there  doesn't  seem  any  doubt 
as  to  her  fondness  for  Van  Vechten,"  replied  Mr. 
Latham. 

"  Doesn't  there?  "  said  the  lady.  "  Perhaps  not 
to  you,  my  dear.  But  if  Nulma  were  my  daughter, 
or  Caspar  Van  Vechten  my  son,  I  should  be  very 
unhappy  about  that  marriage.  She  is  no  more  in 
love  with  him  than  I  am  with  the  jingle-driver,  but 
he  is  so  absolutely  in  love  with  her  that  he  would 
cheerfully  lay  down  his  life  if  she  asked  him  to 
do  it." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


THE    HOME-COMING. 


When  Nulma,  with  her  husband,  entered  her 
new  home,  almost  the  first  thing  which  met  her 
eyes  was  Kenward's  portrait  of  herself  facing  her 
in  the  drawing-room. 

It  was  propped  up  on  a  chair,  and  her  own  eyes 
stared  at  her  out  of  the  frame.  The  picture  was 
quite  finished.  The  wattle,  of  which  a  big  loose 
bundle  lay  in  the  foreground,  had  been  added,  and, 
Van  Vechten  observed  quietly,  had  not  improved 
the  effect.  It  was  not  so  well  painted  as  the  rest 
of  the  portrait. 

Nulma  gave  a  little  startled  cry.  Van  Vechten, 
watching  her  face,  saw  her  eyes  dilate  and  grow 
brighter  and  brighter,  till  a  great  tear  splashed 
from  her  eyelids  upon  her  cheek.  He  put  his  arm 
round  her  softly,  and  kissed  the  tear  away,  not 
speaking. 

'  It   was   meant   for  a  present   to   daddy,"   she 
whispered. 

A  note,  addressed  to  "  Mrs.  Van  Vechten,"  was 

247 


24S  NULMA. 

stuck  into  the  frame  of  the  picture.  Van  Vechten 
gave  it  her. 

'  Will  you  open  it,  please,  Caspar?  " 

'  No,"  he  answered;  "  I  would  rather  that  you 
opened  it  yourself." 

She  gave  him  a  quick,  pained  look. 

'  You  don't  understand,"  she  murmured. 

'  No,  I  don't  understand  quite.  It  does  not 
matter,  my  dear;  I  think  I  guess  enough." 

He  turned  away.  Three  weeks  after  their  mar- 
riage he  had  come  unexpectedly  into  the  room,  and 
had  found  Nulma  convulsed  in  an  agony  of  sobs 
over  a  letter  that  she  had  just  received  from  Ken- 
ward.  It  was  only  a  formal  note  of  condolence 
with  her  in  her  sorrow,  and  of  congratulation  upon 
her  marriage.  But  for  Nulma's  emotion,  he  could 
have  found  nothing  in  the  letter  to  challenge  jeal- 
ousy or  suspicion.  Yet  it  seemed  to  Van  Vech- 
ten that  this  letter  explained  that  in  his  wife 
which  was  already  turning  his  marriage  into  a 
tragedy. 

In  truth,  the  girl  he  had  married  did  not  seem 
to  be  his  wife,  and,  sometimes  he  told  himself  bit- 
terly, would  never  be  his  wife  in  the  real  sense  of  the 
word.  He  might  be  father,  brother,  friend,  to  her, 
but  never  husband.  She  might  have  been  some 
elfin,  fleshless  creature,  to  whom  the  breath  of  pas- 
sion was  a  horror,  the  material  obligations  of  mar- 
riage incomprehensible,  were  it  not  that  once,  when 
he  had  come  in  and  looked  at  her  in  her  sleep,  he 


THE    HOME-COMIXG. 


249 


had  heard  her  talk  in  her  dream  the  language  of 
love. 

She  had  loved  someone.  And  who  could  that 
be  but  Kenward?  Now  his  heart  was  sore  within 
him  as  he  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out  upon 
the  river,  while  Nulma  read  her  note.  She  knew 
instinctively  that  he  had  divined  something  of  the 
truth.  She  wished  to  tell  him  everything,  but  her 
tongue  was  tied.  Before  her  marriage,  she  had 
pictured  to  herself  how,  sitting  by  his  side,  with 
her  head  resting  against  his  knee,  she  would  tell 
him  the  story  of  her  girlish  love,  of  her  one  night's 
dream  of  bliss,  of  Lady  Arthur's  visit,  and  of  how 
Kenward  had  come  and  gone  with  the  words  he 
had  intended  to  say  unspoken.  She  could  not  then 
have  imagined  it  possible  that  she  would  hesitate 
to  tell  Uncle  Van  anything  that  was  in  her  heart, 
certain  of  his  sympathy  and  his  help,  just  as  she 
might  have  told  daddy,  only  that  this  was  a  confi- 
dence that,  much  as  she  loved  him,  she  could  never 
have  made  to  her  father.  But  since  one  scene  that 
had  happened,  upon  the  night  of  their  arrival  in 
Sydney,  three  days  after  the  marriage,  a  great  black 
gulf  seemed  to  have  opened  between  herself  and 
Caspar  Van  Vechten.  He  stood  to  her  in  a  rela- 
tion of  which  she  had  never  contemplated  the  exact 
bearings.  He  could  never  be  to  her  the  same  again. 
She  had  seen  the  man  without  his  mask,  and  had 
received  a  sudden  overwhelming  revelation  of  the 
realities  of  life  and  of  human  nature — a  revelation 


250  NULMA. 

which  had  changed  her  in  the  space  of  ten  minutes 
from  a  girl  to  a  woman.  More  terrible  still,  it  had 
had  the  effect  of  making  her  realize  also  what  might 
have  been,  what  in  truth  was — her  love  for  Outram 
Ken  ward. 

After  that  she  could  never  speak  of  her  inmost 
feelings  to  her  husband.  She  wished  him  to  know 
that  she  had  loved  Kenward,  and  that  till  her  mar- 
riage she  had  not  really  understood  what  that  love 
meant,  and  that  had  she  understood  she  would  not 
have  done  him  the  wrong  of  marrying  him.  But, 
somehow,  the  words  would  never  come.  The  days 
and  weeks  passed  on ;  the  husband  and  wife  walked, 
drove,  ate  together;  they  went  about  Sydney  in  a 
quiet,  chastened  way,  as  befitted  a  mourning  pair; 
they  visited  the  Blue  Mountains  and  the  Berrima 
country,  driving  for  days  through  a  forest  of  strange 
old  twisted  gum-trees,  coming  unexpectedly  vipon 
the  thunder  of  waterfalls,  wandering  down  preci- 
pices and  gazing  along  the  wild  gorges — gigantic 
chasms  which  were  riven  by  some  world-convulsion 
out  of  the  side  of  the  great  tableland,  before  ever 
time  was — always  alone  together,  yet  never  getting 
any  nearer  to  each  other,  moving  along  like  two 
shadows,  with  the  black  gulf  widening  and  deepen- 
ing between,  so  that  they  could  no  longer  touch 
hands  or  hear  each  other's  voices  across  the  black- 
ness of  it. 

Now  after  three  months  they  had  come  back 
to  the  old  scenes,  and  summer  was  heavy  and  hot. 


THE    HOME-COMING. 


251 


The  roses  were  withered  and  drooping.  Scarlet 
hibiscus  and  big  red  and  orange  blossoms  flaunted 
in  the  gardens;  and  the  huge  clump  of  bamboos 
on  the  hill  above  Van  Vechten's  house  looked 
brown  and  dry  and  spiky. 

The  Chief  Justice's  note  was  very  short. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Van  Vechten  (it  ran):  I  under- 
stand that  you  are  to  return  shortly,  and  I  venture 
to  send  the  portrait,  for  which  you  were  so  good 
as  to  give  me  sittings,  to  your  new  home. 

'  You  were  to  do  with  it,  you  remember,  what 
you  pleased,  and  I  think  it  was  your  wish  that  the 
one  dear  to  you,  whom  you  have  lost,  should  have  it 
in  his  possession.  He  always  said  that  he  thought 
it  very  like  you.  Perhaps  now  you  will  wish  that 
it  should  belong  to  your  husband,  and  if  he  can 
find  in  it  a  likeness  to  you  which  pleases  him,  he 
may  care  to  have  it,  and  will  on  that  account  for- 
give its  other  short-comings.  Anyhow,  I  offer  it 
to  you  and  him  with  my  best  wishes  for  your  future 
happiness. 

"  I  am, 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  OUTRAM    KENWARD. 

"  P.   S. — I   took  the  liberty  of  walking  in  the 
plantation  at   the   Bunyas   shortly   after  you   went 
away,  and  of  gathering  the  bunch  of  wattle,  which 
I  have  painted  in  since  you  saw  the  picture." 
17 


252 


NULMA. 


"  Caspar,"  said  Nulma  timidly,  advancing  to  her 
husband  and  offering  him  the  note,  "  Mr.  Kenward 
has  sent  to  you  the  picture  which  was  intended 
for  daddy." 

Van  Vechten  read  the  note. 

'  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  him,"  he  answered, 
a  little  stiffly.  '  I  will  write  at  once  and  thank  him. 
It  is  a  valuable  gift,  and  your  father  was  right.  It 
is  very  like  you." 

"  Are  you  glad  to  have  the  picture,  Caspar?  " 

'  I  am  glad  to  possess  anything  and  everything 
which  is  a  part  of  you,  my  dear,"  he  said;  and  the 
incident  closed. 

The  bride  settled  down  very  quietly  to  her  new 
life.  A  great  many  people  were  out  of  Leichardt's 
Town,  as  the  fashion  was  during  the  summer  heat 
— among  them,  Lady  Arthur  Keefe,  who,  with  the 
Governor  and  his  staff,  was  at  Government  Cottage 
on  the  Ubi  Range.  The  Chief  Justice  was  also 
absent;  but  the  Perrymans  were,  of  course,  at  Wir- 
rib,  and  Luce,  full  of  little  airs  of  importance,  which 
she  fancied  becoming  to  a  now  formally-engaged 
young  lady,  came  frequently  to  compare  notes  with 
Nulma,  and  to  discourse  upon  the  emotions  to 
which  Malcolm  Derrett  gave  rise  in  her  girlish 
breast.  She  was  surprised  to  find  that  Nulma  was 
not  disposed  to  make  capital  out  of  her  own  ex- 
periences, and  had  no  emotions,  or,  anyhow,  would 
not  own  to  any,  of  a  thrilling  kind.  How  could 
a  girl  go  through  all  the  stages  of  girlhood  and 


THE    HOME-COMING.  253 

womanhood — coming-out,  engagement,  marriage, 
installation  as  a  bride — in  a  little  over  six  months, 
and  be  left  quite  unmoved  thereby?  This  was 
Luce's  constant  wonderment. 

Unmoved,  but  not  unchanged.  Had  any  human 
being  ever  changed  so  completely  in  so  short  a 
space  as  Nulma?  Luce  thought  this  was  impossi- 
ble, and  Luce  finally  decided  within  herself  that 
it  was  her  father's  sudden  death,  and  the  fact  of 
finding  herself  a  very  rich  woman,  that  had  numbed 
Nulma's  feelings  and  made  her  take  everything 
for  granted,  whereas  formerly  she  would  have 
laughed,  cried  or  "  gone  into  a  tantrum,"  as  Luce 
put  it,  according  as  occasion  dictated. 

Miss  Perryman,  however,  had  no  cause  to  be 
dissatisfied  with  Nulma's  accession  to  wealth,  for 
one  of  Mrs.  Van  Vechten's  first  acts  of  friendship 
on  her  return  was  the  presentation  to  Luce  of  a 
very  substantial  cheque,  which  would  not  only  re- 
move all  difficulty  as  to  the  trousseau,  but  go  some 
way  towards  furnishing  the  Malcolm  Derretts'  mod- 
est future  abode.  Thus,  the  Perrymans  could  say 
nothing  but  good  in  general  of  the  bride,  though 
Mrs.  Perryman,  in  confidence  to  her  cronies,  would 
shake  her  head  and  declare  there  was  something 
very  wrong  about  the  marriage,  and  that  no  one 
could  spend  an  evening  in  the  society  of  husband 
and  wife  without  seeing  that  they  were  far  from 
happy. 

The  report  of  their  matrimonial  infelicity  got 


254 


NULMA. 


about,  no  one  quite  knew  how.  It  reached  the  Gov- 
ernor and  his  circle,  and  was  openly  bewailed  by  the 
old  gentleman,  with  whom  Nulma  was  a  favourite; 
it  reached  Miss  Caroline  Degraves,  now  on  the 
eve  of  being  engaged  to  Mr.  Justin  Blaize,  and 
gave  her  a  certain  vague  thrill  of  satisfaction;  it 
reached  also,  and  half  pleased,  half  disquieted,  the 
Chief  Justice. 

One  morning  Nulma  went  to  her  husband,  as 
he  was  collecting  some  business  letters  in  his  study 
before  going  into  Leichardt's  Town.  He  had  not 
seen  her  as  yet  that  morning,  for  she  had  not  come 
down  to  breakfast.  She  was  looking  pale  and  frag- 
ile, and — oh,  strange  occurrence  hitherto  in  Nulma's 
young  life! — as  though  she  had  not  slept.  Van 
Vechten  greeted  her  tenderly,  kissing  her  on  the 
forehead  and  leading  her  to  a  chair. 

"  Are  you  not  quite  well,  my  dear?  "  he  asked. 

'  Yes ;  quite  well.  Caspar,  may  I  ask  you  some- 
thing before  you  go?" 

"  Certainly;  and  whatever  you  ask  will,  if  possi- 
ble, be  granted." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,  Caspar."  She  hesi- 
tated. "  I  wish  I  could  call  you  Uncle  Van,  as  I 
used;  I  could  explain  better." 

"  Then,  call  me  Uncle  Van." 

"  Ah !  but  you  said  I  must  not.  And  you  are 
my  husband,  and  so,  of  course,  you  cannot  be 
'  Uncle  Van  '  any  more.  Oh,  Caspar,  if  I  had  only 
known  what  it  was  all  coming  to,  and  what  it  all 


THE    HOME-COMING. 


255 


meant,  I  wouldn't  have  forced  you  into  marrying 
me  as  I  did.  It  was  a  great  mistake — a  terrible 
mistake." 

'  Yes,  I  am  afraid  it  was  a  mistake,"  he  an- 
swered sadly.  "  I  have  spoiled  your  life,  and  that 
was  what  I  always  dreaded  doing." 

"  I  make  you  a  bad  wife,  Caspar;  I  don't  make 
you  happy." 

'  That  doesn't  matter,"  he  returned  decidedly. 
"  And  you  do  make  me  happy.  It  is  happiness 
to  me  to  live  under  the  same  roof  with  you,  to 
know  that  you  bear  my  name,  to  be  able  to  do 
little  things  for  you  that  make  your  life  easier. 
You  don't  hate  me,  Nulma,  do  you,  for  having 
spoiled  your  life?  " 

"Oh, Uncle  Van — Uncle  Van" — the  girl  sobbed, 
drawing  him  to  the  arm  of  the  great  leather  chair, 
in  which  he  had  placed  her,  and  leaning  her  head 
against  his  shoulder — "  how  could  I  hate  you?  How 
could  I  do  anything  but  care  for  you,  and  be  grate- 
ful for  your  goodness  to  me?  I  do  care  for  you — 
every  way,  except " 

"  Except  the  one  way  in  which  I  wish  you  to 
care  for  me.  Never  mind,  that  may  come,  perhaps, 
long  years  hence;  and  in  the  meanwhile  think  of 
me  as  Uncle  Van,  and  not  as  Caspar  Van  Vechten, 
your  husband." 

'  It  was  my  doing,"  repeated  the  girl,  still  sob- 
bing.   "  I  made  you  do  it." 

'  Nulma,"  he  said  gently,  "  I  have  never  asked 


256  NULMA. 

you  since  that  day,  but  I  should  be  glad  to  know, 
for  your  own  sake,  my  dear,  so  that  I  may  help  you 
if  it  ever  seems  possible.  Will  you  tell  me  exactly 
what  led  up  to  that  request  of  yours — why  you 
wished  me  to  marry  you?" 

'  I  should  like  to  tell  you,  Uncle  Van  ...  but 
it  is  so  difficult." 

'  I  think  I  can  guess  partly.  I  watched  you 
very  closely  all  that  winter,  and  at  one  time  I  al- 
most brought  myself  to  believe  that  you  had  given 
your  heart  to  Mr.  Kenward." 

'  Yes,  Uncle  Van,  that  was  quite  true;  he  made 
me  care  for  him." 

"  And  he — it  seemed  to  me  that  he  cared  for 
you." 

Van  Vechten  spoke  with   a   studied   quietness. 

'  I  don't  know."  Nulma  hid  her  face  as  she 
spoke  low  and  falteringly,  and  he  stroked  her  hair 
and  encouraged  her  to  go  on,  just  as  in  the  old 
time  '  Uncle  .Van "  might  have  done.  She  felt 
nearer  to  him  then  than  she  had  felt  in  all  the  days 
since  their  marriage.  "  I  thought  he  cared — once, 
the  night  of  the  bachelors'  ball.  But,  then,  I  always 
had  the  feeling  that  he  only  thought  of  me  as  a 
kind  of  doll — something  that  amused  him  a  little, 
and  was  good  to  look  at.  I  knew  he  must  feel  that 
we  weren't  good  enough — that  we  didn't  belong 
to  his  world,  daddy  and  I;  and  it  hurt  me,  and 
made  me  angry  and  proud,  so  that " 

"  Yes— so  that,  Nulma?  " 


THE    HOME-COMING. 


257 


"  So  that  the  bitterness  seemed  to  swallow  up 
the  caring-  sometimes.  And  I  didn't  know;  I  was 
only  a  child,  Uncle  Van.  I  didn't  become  a  woman 
till  I  married  you." 

"  Ah!  "  He  gave  a  heavy  sigh.  "  /  have  made 
you  a  woman,  but  not  in  the  right  way.  Well,  my 
dear,  tell  me — the  night  of  the  ball.  Did  the  Chief 
Justice  lead  you  to  think  then  that  he  wanted  you 
to  be  his  wife?  " 

"  No,  not  quite.  He  said  there  was  something 
he  must  not  tell  me  then.  He  was  coming  the  next 
afternoon." 

"  And  he  came?  " 

'  Yes;  he  came.  But  Lady  Arthur  came  to 
luncheon,  and  she  told  me " 

"  Lady   Arthur!  "  he   repeated   sharply. 

"  She  said  she  had  known  him  for  a  long  time. 
She  said  he  was  not  free  to  ask  me  to  marry  him 
— that  there  was  another  woman  to  whom  he  was 
bound,  and  whom  he  loved  and  who  loved  him." 

"  Lady  Arthur  told  you  that?  Now  I  think  I 
understand." 

'What  do  you  understand,  Uncle  Van?" 

'  No  matter,  my  child.  Lady  Arthur  strength- 
ened your  suspicion,  no  doubt,  that  he  was  merely 
attracted  by  your  pretty  face,  and  that  if  he  married 
you  he  would  afterwards  be  sorry." 

"  Yes,  that  was  what  she  said." 

"My  God!"  said  Van  Vechten  passionately. 
'  It  was  a  cruel,  cowardly  woman's  trick." 


258  NULMA. 

'  Uncle  Van,"  said  Nulma  slowly,  "  do  you 
think- — sometimes  I  have  fancied  it — that  Lady  Ar- 
thur, though  she  is  married,  cared  for  Mr.  Kenward 
herself? " 

"  I  think  it  is  possible,"  replied  Van  Vechten 
grimly.  '  Never  mind,  Nulma;  that  need  not  con- 
cern you.  And  so  when  Mr.  Kenward  came  and 
asked  you  to  be  his  wife,  you  told  him  of  Lady 
Arthur's  warning?  " 

"  No;  I  did  not  mention  that.  How  could  I 
let  him  think  I  cared?  I  was  mad,  Uncle  Van — 
I  was  wicked.  I  wanted  to  hurt  him.  I  wanted 
that  he  should  know  I  was  worth  more  than — a 
mere  plaything.  I  sent  for  you — and  you  know. 
And  when  he  came  I  told  him  that  I  was  engaged 
to  be  married  to  you.  And  he  never  asked  me  any- 
thing. He  went  away.  You  see,  it  isn't  much  to 
tell.    That  is  all." 

'Yes;  that  is  all,"  Van  Vechten  repeated;  and 
then  there  was  a  silence,  during  which  he  still 
stroked  his  wife's  hair.  His  heart  was  full  of  anger 
and  resentment  against  Lady  Arthur,  and  the 
thought  uppermost  in  his  mind  was  that  he  would 
avenge  Nulma.  Presently  he  said:  "You  have  not 
told  me  yet  what  it  is  you  wished  to  ask  me." 

Nulma  hesitated. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I'll  ask  it  now,  Cas- 
par." 

1  You  may  safely  do  so,  dear.  Whatever  it  may 
be,  I  shall  not  be  hurt  or  vexed." 


THE    HOME-COMING. 


259 


"  Caspar,  will  you  let  me  go  back  to  the  Bunyas 
again?  " 

"  Back  to  the  Bunyas?  do  you  mean  that  we 
should  leave  this  house?" 

"  No;  not  that.  This  is  your  home.  I  want 
to  go  back  by  myself — to  my  own  old  home  just 
for  a  little  while.  I  want  to  try  and  feel  myself 
a  girl  again.  I  think  I  should  be  happier  if  I  could 
be  by  myself  for  a  short  time." 

"You  are  not  happy,  then,  Nulma?  No;  it  is 
absurd  to  ask — of  course,  I  see  for  myself  that  you 
are  wretched." 

"  I  ought  not  to  be  wretched,  Uncle  Van.  I 
keep  telling  myself  that  there's  no  girl  in  the  world 
should  be  so  happy  as  I.  I  don't  think  I'm  wretched, 
really.  But  it's  all  so  strange,  and  I  feel  so  lonely, 
sometimes." 

"Lonely?"  he  interrupted. 

"  You  see,  Uncle  Van,  I'm  not  a  girl  any  more; 
and  sometimes  it  seems  as  though  my  life  were 
ended  when  it  had  never  begun.  And  there  are 
so  many  years  to  live,  so  many  years  from  eighteen 
to  fifty,  even — to  be  as  old  as  Mrs.  Perryman.  I 
shall  get  used  to  it  in  time.  And  I  miss  daddy — 
I  miss  daddy.  I  wasn't  always  good  to  him.  I 
didn't  appreciate  him  as  I  ought.  I  didn't  love  him 
as  I  ought,  but  there  will  never  be  anybody  like 
him  for  me  in  all  the  world." 

She  fell  to  sobbing.  Caspar  did  not  take  her  in 
his  arms  this  time  and  soothe  her  grief  with  ca- 


260  NULMA. 

resses.  He  looked  on  silent,  immovable,  except 
for  the  twitch  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  At  last 
he  said: 

'  I  think  you  are  right,  dear.  It  will  do  you 
good  to  be  by  yourself  in  your  old  home  for  a 
short  time.  Don't  stay  too  long,  Nulma.  That 
would  set  people  wondering,  and  perhaps  saying 
unkind  things  about  us  both.  I  will  make  arrange- 
ments for  you  to  go  at  once.  I  can  easily  explain 
that  there  are  matters  you  have  to  see  about,  for 
which  you  must  be  on  the  spot.  And  I  will  not 
break  in  upon  your  solitude." 

'  Thank  you,  Caspar!  "  She  lifted  his  hand  and 
timidly  kissed  it.  "  But  I  did  not  mean  that.  I 
should  like  you  to  come  and  see  me  if  you  wish." 

'  Very  well.  I  will  watch  over  you  from  out- 
side the  gates,  and  if  you  want  anything  you  have 
only  to  send  to  me.  As  I  go  to  town  now,  I  will 
call  in  and  tell  them  you  are  coming,  and  to  have 
dinner  for  you  this  evening.  Everything  is  exactly 
as  you  left  it — even  his  room.  Latham  and  I  merely 
looked  for  some  necessary  papers.  We  thought  you 
would  prefer  to  go  over  the  others  yourself." 

'  Thank  you,  Caspar,"  she  repeated  submis- 
sively. 

"Good-bye,  my  dear!  God  bless  you!"  He 
lifted  her  face  to  his  between  his  two  hands,  and 
looked  down  into  the  clear  brown  eyes.  "  Yes," 
he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  himself;  "they  are  very 
true;  there's  not  a  shadow  of  dishonesty  in  them. 


THE    HOME-COMING.  26 1 

Always  be  true  to  me,  Nulma.  Never  try  to  con- 
ceal your  feelings.  Do  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me 
even  that  you  love  another  man.  There  is  no  shame 
in  it,  to  you.  You  do  not  know  what  evil  is,  and 
I  pray  Heaven  that  you  never  may.  You  never 
shall,  so  long  as  I  am  able  to  ward  it  from  you. 
Courage,  my  child!  It  seems  a  long  time,  as  you 
say,  to  look  forward — from  eighteen  to  fifty.  But 
the  end  may  come  sooner  than  you  think." 

He  kissed  her  very  tenderly  and  went  to  the 
door.  Then  he  stopped  for  a  moment  and  smiled 
back  upon  her. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dearest!  And  you  know  it  is 
only  a  little  way  from  the  Bunyas  here,  and  I  will 
see  that  Bailey  and  the  trap  are  there  ready  for 
you,  so  you  will  only  have  to  step  into  the  pony- 
carriage  and  come  back  to  me  when  you  are  tired 
of  being  alone." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE    ORDEAL. 

NiTlma  found,  when  she  took  up  her  abode  at 
the  Bunyas  in  the  evening-,  that  everything  had 
been  arranged  by  Van  Vechten  with  such  fore- 
thought and  kindliness  that  it  seemed  the  most 
natural  and  right  thing  for  her  to  thus  change  her 
residence  from  under  her  husband's  roof  to  the 
home  of  her  girlhood.  Van  Vechten  had  even 
called  at  Wirrib,  and,  with  some  slight  deviation 
from  the  truth,  had  informed  the  Perrymans  that 
at  his  urgent  entreaty  Nulma  had  consented  at  last 
to  go  over  her  father's  papers,  and  all  the  things  in 
the  house,  with  a  view  of  determining  what  should 
now  be  done  with  the  Bunyas.  The  thought  of 
this,  he  said,  had  been  intensely  painful  to  her,  and 
they  had  agreed  together  that  she  should  be  left 
quite  alone  with  her  sad  memories,  and  thus  grow 
to  realize  the  change  which  had  befallen  her.  He 
therefore  begged  that  Luce  and  Airs.  Perryman 
would  check  their  natural  and  affectionate  impulses, 
and  refrain  from  going  near  her. 

This  Nulma  learned  in  a  little  letter  from  Luce, 
which  was  brought  her  in  the  morning. 

262 


THE    ORDEAL. 


263 


It  was  as  Caspar  had  said.  Nothing  had  been 
altered.  Most  of  the  old  servants  remained.  Her 
father's  pipes  hung  in  the  rack  over  the  mantel- 
piece in  his  study;  his  papers  and  letters  lay  in  the 
lettered  pigeon-holes  of  his  escritoire.  The  clothes 
she  had  left  behind  her  were  in  the  drawers  in  her 
room,  and  some  of  her  old  programmes  were  still 
stuffed  between  the  wall  and  the  looking-glass. 
She  could  almost  have  imagined  that  her  marriage 
was  a  dream,  as  she  lay  down  to  sleep  in  the  little 
white  bed,  with  its  pink-trimmed  mosquito-curtains, 
in  which  she  had  dreamed  a  different  dream — one 
of  intoxicating  happiness — in  the  early  morning 
after  the  bachelors'  ball. 

She  was  like  a  ghost  coming  back  out  of  ghost- 
land.  That  phrase,  unconsciously  repeated  to  her- 
self, expressed  everything.  On  the  day  of  her  mar- 
riage she  had  died,  and  ever  since  she  had  been 
living  in  ghostland. 

The  first  day  she  wandered  and  dreamed  again. 
She  had  the  fancy,  even,  to  pace  the  veranda  with 
the  old  spelling-book,  and  learn  the  very  lesson 
Van  Vechten  had  interrupted  on  the  day  of  that 
ride,  and  of  that  strange  conversation — so  memora- 
ble, and  yet  then  to  her  so  little  more  than  a  child's 
joke — the  conversation  in  which  Van  Vechten  had 
made  her  promise  that  if  ever  she  wished  to  marry 
him  she  would  frankly  tell  him  so.  Well,  that  con- 
versation and  that  compact  had  been  the  pivot  on 
which  her  whole  life  turned.     If  she  had  not  made 


264  NULMA. 

that  half-jesting  promise,  she  would  not  now  be 
Van  Vechten's  wife. 

She  roamed  the  garden  in  the  afternoon;  she 
sat  out  under  the  passion-vines,  where  often  during 
the  short  period  of  his  intimacy  at  the  Bunyas  the 
Chief  Justice  had  sat  and  talked  to  her.  She  walked 
in  the  plantation,  where  just  one  or  two  late  sprays 
of  wattle-bloom  flecked  the  blue-green  boughs, 
looking  brown,  scorched,  and  out  of  date.  She 
sat  in  the  veranda  opposite  the  squatter's  chair  in 
which  Margot  Keefe  had  tilted  herself  while  she 
pulled  the  young  blooms  to  pieces,  and,  as  she  did 
so,  had  destroyed  the  girl's  faith  in  the  man  she 
loved.  The  whole  scene  came  back  to  Nulma  with 
new  flashing  lights  illuminating  the  woman's  per- 
fidy, and  the  girl  grew  hot  and  cold  and  crimson 
and  pale  again.  A  thousand  trifles,  looks,  words, 
tones,  tiny  incidents  of  the  sittings  at  Government 
House,  to  which  in  her  absolute  innocence  she  had 
attached  no  meaning,  now  came  back  to  her  with 
a  horrible  significance.  Had  they  loved  each  other, 
then,  those  two?  And  if  so,  how  had  he  dared — oh, 
how  had  he  dared ! 

In  her  passion  of  shame  and  resentment,  she 
felt  that  she  must  know  the  truth.  She  was  in  the 
mood,  had  Lady  Arthur  been  at  Government 
House,  to  have  gone  forth  and  arraigned  her. 

She  was  so  restless  that  she  walked  about  the 
garden  half  the  night.  There  was  a  young  moon; 
the  trees  and  shrubs  cast  grotesque  shadows;  the 


THE    ORDEAL.  265 

air  was  heavy  with  scent.  She  felt  a  thrill  of  satis- 
faction in  her  loneliness.  It  was  a  relief  to  know 
that  Caspar,  in  his  own  house  half  a  mile  away, 
could  not  watch  for  the  light  through  her  door- 
crevice,  or  listen  for  the  restless  movements,  the 
stealthy  opening  of  French  windows,  and  uneasy 
pacings  on  the  veranda  outside  her  room,  upon 
which  he  would  sometimes  comment  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  thus  betray  his  knowledge  of  her  wakeful 
nights.  That  tireless,  unobtrusive  espionage  had 
sometimes  exasperated  her  almost  beyond  endur- 
ance, and  yet  she  had  at  moments  an  inconsistent 
longing  to  go  to  him  and  sob  out  her  restlessness 
upon  his  breast. 

The  relief  of  her  freedom  made  her  now  stretch 
out  her  arms  to  the  night  and  take  long,  deep 
breaths  of  the  hot,  scented  air.  She  had  gone  quite 
to  the  end  of  the  garden,  had  emerged  from  the 
untidy  gloom  of  a  banana  thicket,  and  stood  by  a 
low  fence,  with  broken  palisades,  partly  hung  by 
a  ragged  vine  of  the  native  cucumber.  Beyond 
were  a  few  straggling  bushes  of  lantarna,  some 
gum  saplings,  and  a  heap  of  stones  and  earth  where 
the  bank  shelved  abruptly  to  the  river.  At  the  foot 
of  the  bank  was  a  dilapidated  boat-house,  and  be- 
side it  a  set  of  slimy  steps.  The  boat-approach  was 
occasionally  used  by  friends  living  on  the  water's 
edge,  but  the  late  Minister  of  Mines  had  not  kept 
a  boat,  and  had  always  had  plenty  of  horses,  so  that 
the  river  had  never  served  him  as  a  highway. 


266  NULMA. 

The  river  stretched  out  below  a  great  black 
shadow,  with  faint  moonlit  streaks  where  the  pale 
track  crossed  it,  and  red  lights  here  and  there,  show- 
ing barges  and  ferry-boats  lying  close  into  shore, 
while  further  back  again,  climbing  the  opposite 
slope,  were  white  cottages  nestling  in  gardens  and 
groves  of  bananas. 

Minyando  was  one  of  these.  There  was  a  light 
burning  in  one  of  the  French  windows.  Did  it 
mean  that  Kenward  was  at  Leichardt's  Town?  Nul- 
ma  gazed  wistfully  towards  the  light  in  that  little 
low  house,  which  perhaps,  but  for  Lady  Arthur, 
might  now  have  been  her  home.  And  her  father 
would  be  alive,  too,  for  he  would  not  then  have 
gone  to  Melbourne.  The  lights  of  her  real  home 
were  burning  likewise.  As  she  turned  her  eyes 
leftward  up  the  river,  the  Bamboos,  with  its  big 
"  Prince  of  Wales's  feathers "  clump  above  the 
lights,  drawn  black  against  the  dark  sky,  seemed 
to  dominate  the  whole  scene.  She  turned  away  with 
a  kind  of  smothered  gasp.  It  seemed  as  though 
even  here  she  could  not  escape  that  unceasing 
watch. 

Had  she  known  it,  the  watch  was  very  close. 
Not  twenty  paces  from  her,  behind  a  lantarna  bush, 
stood  Van  Vechten,  who  had  stolen  forth  miser- 
ably, seeing  the  lights  burning  in  Nulma's  chamber, 
to  assure  himself  that  all  was  well  with  his  beloved. 

Another  pair  of  eyes  had  been  observing  that 
same  light  in  Nulma's  bedchamber.     At  the  foot 


THE   OKDEAL.  267 

of  Minyando  garden  there  was  a  boat-house,  too, 
and  moored  by  it  a  long  narrow  dainty  little  craft. 
On  hot  moonlight  nights  Kenward  often  took 
refuge  in  the  boat,  and,  pushing  out,  drifted  along 
with  the  tide.  He  cast  himself  adrift  now.  He  had 
come  back  only  that  day.  Of  Nulma  he  had  heard 
no  news,  and  was  not  aware  that  she  was  staying 
in  her  old  home.  He  looked  up  from  the  river  and 
saw  the  light.  During  his  visits  to  the  Bunyas  he 
had  got  to  know  the  plan  of  the  house,  which  is 
not  difficult  in  Australian  establishments,  where 
rooms  give  out  on  verandas,  and  French  windows 
are  generally  open.  He  wondered  who  could  be 
occupying  Nulma's  chamber,  and  whether  the  Van 
Vechtens  were  now  living  there  instead  of  at  Cas- 
par's own  house.  But  the  lights  in  the  Bamboos, 
shining  in  both  stories,  contradicted  this  theory. 
He  pulled  close  to  the  bank,  and  lay  on  his  oars 
just  far  enough  to  see  through  the  rifts  in  the  lan- 
tarna  bushes  into  the  garden.  He  rocked  himself 
there,  keeping  in  position  with  one  oar  for  a  long 
time.  Once  he  thought  he  saw  the  figure  of  a  man 
on  the  bank  below  the  garden,  moving  among  the 
lantarna  shrubs  and  gum-saplings,  and  idly  specu- 
lated as  to  the  chances  of  its  being  a  burglar.  Then 
something  white  flitted  across  the  opening  he  com- 
manded. He  gave  a  great  start.  The  night  was 
full  of  shadows,  and  the  moon  made  but  a  dim  pale- 
ness, and  every  now  and  then,  passed  altogether 
behind  clouds;  but  it  had  been  clear  enough  for 
18 


268  NULMA. 

him  to  see  in  that  moving'  shape,  in  the  poise  of  the 
head  and  carriage  of  the  shoulders,  Nulma.  He 
waited  on,  but  the  shape  did  not  return  past  the 
opening.  The  other  dark  shape  he  now  saw  dis- 
tinctly emerge  from  behind  a  lantarna  bush,  and 
the  man,  with  his  back  to  the  river,  so  that  even 
had  it  been  light  enough  Kenward  would  not  have 
been  able  to  identify  him,  climbed  up  the  slope  and 
disappeared  into  a  path  leading  between  the  garden- 
paling  of  the  Bunyas  and  a  paddock-fence  beyond, 
up  to  the  main  road.  He  concluded  that  the  man, 
who  might  possibly  have  been  reconnoitring  with 
ultimate  nefarious  intent,  did  not  propose  putting 
any  such  into  execution  to-night. 

Kenward  rowed  out  again  further  into  the 
stream.  It  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  any  object 
in  the  mass  of  shadows,  but  he  fancied  he  saw 
something  white  gleam  faintly  against  the  black- 
ness of  the  house  and  then  disappear. 

The  next  day  he  called  at  the  Bamboos.  In 
answer  to  his  inquiries,  he  was  told  that  Mrs.  Van 
Yechten  was  not  at  home,  and  that  Mr.  Van  Vech- 
ten  generally  got  in  about  five,  but  had  been  later 
the  last  day  or  two.  Further  inquiry  as  to  whether 
Mrs.  Van  Vechten  was  likely  to  be  at  home  after 
dinner,  a  favourite  time  for  paying  calls  in  the  Aus- 
tralian summer,  told  him  all  he  wanted  to  know. 
"  No;  Mrs.  Van  Vechten  was  staying  for  a  short 
time  at  the  Bunyas  alone.  Mr.  Van  Vechten  didn't 
go  over  of  evenings,  or  any  time.     Mrs.  Van  Vech- 


THE   ORDEAL. 


269 


ten  was  settling  things  over  there,  and  had  wanted 
to  be  by  herself." 

To  Kenward  that  piece  of  information,  deliv- 
ered by  a  talkative  Irish  maid,  who  no  doubt  had 
her  own  views  concerning  the  relations  of  her  mas- 
ter and  mistress,  seemed  to  unfold  a  new  and  tragic 
view  of  the  marriage.  "  She  had  wanted  to  be  by 
herself."  Then,  the  gossip  which  had  reached  him 
was  not  without  foundation.     Nulma  was  unhappy. 

A  longing  to  see  her  and  to  judge  for  himself 
took  possession  of  him.  He  was  tempted  to  go 
on  to  the  Bunyas,  but  he  dared  not.  No  doubt  he 
would  be  refused  admittance.  That  night  he  went 
out  again  in. the  boat,  and  lay  off  the  landing-stage 
below  the  Bunyas.  He  excused  this  proceeding  to 
himself  on  the  ground  that  it  behoved  him  to  see 
whether  the  man  he  had  watched  the  previous  night 
still  lurked  among  the  lantarna  shrubs.  Nulma 
was  alone;  the  man  might  be  a  robber,  and  who 
could  blame  him  for  drawing  thus  near  unseen, 
ready  to  guard  her?  And  then — for  the  night  was 
hot,  heavy  and  almost  unbearable  within  doors — 
might  she  not  again  be  roaming  sleepless  in  the 
moonlight,  and  might  he  not  this  time  get  a  clear 
vision  of  the  face  he  loved? 

The  face  that  he  loved!  Yes,  that  was  what  it 
came  to.  This  child  had  wound  herself  round  his 
very  heart-strings.  He  could  never  tear  her  away. 
All  other  loves,  to  this  one,  had  been  as  smoke- 
dimmed  furnace  fire  to  the  pure  light  of  the  rising 


2  70 


NULMA. 


sun.  I  lis  old  passion,  merged  later  into  pitying, 
half-contemptuous  affection  for  Margot:  Keefe,  ex- 
isted no  longer.  He  loved  Nulma,  and  only  Nulma. 
rlis  intuition  told  him  that  she  had  given  him  her 
heart,  and  that  the  engagement  to  Van  Vechten 
had  been  some  horrible  blunder — perhaps  an  ex- 
aggerated fad  of  honour,  perhaps  a  girl's  coquettish 
whim,  perhaps  an  impulse  of  pique.  Somebody 
might  have  told  her  something  against  him.  The 
somebody  might  have  been  Margot.  For  the  first 
time  the  thought  struck  him.  But  it  was  impos- 
sible. Margot  could  not  have  been  so  base.  And 
for  her  own  sake  she  would  have  been  silent. 

The  moon  was  less  of  a  crescent  to-night;  there 
were  fewer  clouds.  Possibly  for  this  reason  the 
mysterious  would-be  burglar  had  thought  it  more 
prudent  to  defer  his  projects.  Kenward  could  see 
,  no  sign  of  the  dark  shape  among  the  lantarna 
shrubs.  But,  then,  his  eyes  were  straining  wildly 
for  another  fairer  shape.  Down  near  the  bank  the 
mosquitoes  buzzed.  There  were  one  or  two  slimy 
mangroves  close  by  the  boat-house,  and  a  chucky- 
chucky-tree  dipped  its  boughs  into  the  turgid  water. 
The  mosquitoes,  even  a  few  feet  higher,  would 
be  less  troublesome.  Why  should  he  not  moor  his 
boat,  crawl  up  the  steps,  and  lie  in  wait  among  the 
lantarna  shrubs  also,  below  the  paling?  Then  he 
would  be  less  likely  to  attract  observation;  he 
would  certainly  be  more  comfortable,  and  he  would 
be  closer  at  hand  if  the  burglar  did  show  himself. 


THE    ORDEAL. 


271 


Kenward  yielded  to  the  pressure  of  the  argu- 
ments, though  his  sense  of  humour  prevailed  suffi- 
ciently to  make  him  quite  conscious  of  their  sophis- 
try. He  almost  laughed  aloud  as  he  took  up  his 
position  below  the  palings.  Truly  an  undignified 
proceeding  for  the  Chief  Justice  of  Leichardt's 
Land,  who  was,  moreover,  of  an  age  unbefitting 
such  lovers'  escapades.  Never  in  his  calf-days  had 
he  descended  to  such  folly.  He  thought  of  the  bit- 
ing comments  which  would  have  tripped  readily 
from  Margot  Keefe's  tongue. 

It  was  early  yet,  comparatively.  The  house  was 
not  closed — if,  indeed,  Australian  houses  in  those 
primitive  days  could  ever  have  been  said  to  be 
closed  on  summer  nights.  Ten  strokes  from  the 
clock  over  the  Court-house  floated  faintly  along 
the  river  from  Victoria  Street.  Lights  were  burn- 
ing in  several  of  the  French  windows  which  opened 
on  to  the  veranda.  From  where  he  stood  he  could 
see  right  up  the  garden,  along  a  diagonal  path 
through  the  banana  thicket,  to  the  broad  central 
walk  which  ended  in  a  sort  of  trellis  of  passion- 
vines. 

There  was  a  sound  of  stir  in  the  veranda — of 
a  chair  being  dragged  along  the  boards,  and  of 
voices,  one  rough  and  uncultured,  the  other  low 
and  sweet,  with  that  slight  fall  of  cadence  and  tend- 
ency to  drawl  which  gives  a  plaintive  note  to  a 
woman's  voice,  when  it  is  not  exaggerated  into 
what  is  called  the  Australian  accent,  an  exaggera- 


2-2  NULMA. 

lion,  alas!  that  lias  grown  with  generations.  Ken- 
ward  could  not  hear  the  words,  but  he  knew  the 
voice  for  Nulma's.  Probably  she  was  saying  that 
she  would  not  go  to  bed  yet,  for  by-and-by,  through 
the  rift  in  that  wall  of  banana  leaves  and  thick  pulpy 
stems,  he  saw  something  white  flitting;  and  then 
on  the  broad  walk,  close  by  the  trellis,  the  white 
shape  halted,  standing  wraith-like  for  a  few  min- 
utes, finally  sinking  into  indistinctness  within  the 
shadow  of  the  trellis. 

An  uncontrollable  impulse  leaped  within  Ken- 
ward.  He  must  see  her.  To  be  so  near,  and  not 
even  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  features,  was  more 
than  he  could  endure.  In  a  moment  he  had  vaulted 
the  low  paling  and  stood  in  the  gloom  of  the  banana 
thicket.  He  fancied  that  he  heard  a  rustling  behind 
him,  but  when  he  looked,  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen,  and  he  walked  boldly  on  towards  the  arbour. 
This  could,  in  truth,  hardly  be  called  an  arbour, 
being  a  trellis-wall  overgrown  with  a  vine,  that 
had  flung  grappling  tendrils  across  to  the  bare 
branches  of  a  gum-tree,  which  had  been  left  to 
exist  only  in  right  of  a  rather  fine  cactus  trained 
up  its  stem.  There  was  a  bench  with  a  back  to  it 
standing  close  to  the  gum-tree,  and  sheltered  by 
the  trellis,  and  on  this  bench,  with  her  arm  thrown 
over  the  back,  one  hand  supporting  her  head,  Nul- 
ma  was  sitting. 

She  was  in  a  muslin  dress,  with  her  head  bare, 
and   the   loose,   wide   sleeves   of   her  gown   falling 


THE    ORDEAL. 


273 


away  from  the  round,  slim  arm.  Her  hair  was  very 
simply  dressed,  and  her  whiteness  and  slenderness 
and  extreme  girlislmess  seemed  accentuated  in  the 
moonlight,  so  that,  combined  with  her  loneliness, 
they  gave  her  a  touch  of  pathos  which  almost 
amounted  to  tragedy.  But  as  he  got  nearer  he  saw 
that  there  was  indeed  something  tragic  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face,  which  he  fancied  had  grown 
smaller,  and  in  the  outlook  of  the  brown  eyes,  from 
which  tears  were  dropping.  He  saw  a  great  drop 
splash  down  upon  her  shoulder,  and  then  the  bosom 
heaved,  the  shoulders  shook  in  a  log-drawn  sob, 
and  Nulma  drooped  her  head  and  covered  her  face 
with  both  hands,  weeping  unconstrainedly. 

He  let  her  weep  on  for  several  minutes.  The 
sobbing  turned  into  sharp  gasps  that  were  each 
like  a  knife  thrust  through  the  poor,  quivering 
frame.  The  sound  of  them  was  to  him  as  a  physical 
hurt.  He  stepped  impetuously  forward,  and  as  her 
hands  dropped  in  the  startled  movement  she  made, 
he  caught  them,  and,  flinging  himself  on  the  bench 
beside  her,  held  them  tight  against  his  breast. 

"  No,  Nulma,  you  mustn't  take  them  away,  you 
must  let  them  stay  there.  And  you  must  speak  the 
truth  to  me,  for  I  will  have  nothing  less  from 
you  now — as  I  shall  speak  the  truth  to  you." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


"  there's  no  third  place  in  it." 


It  was  the  real  man  who  spoke  in  those  curt, 
masterful  sentences,  whose  eyes,  gazing  straight 
into  hers,  from  which  the  tears,  arrested,  and  gath- 
ering into  greater  drops,  plashed  slowly  now  on 
his  hand,  seemed  to  be  piercing  through  all  dis- 
guises and  tearing  away  every  veil  that  hung  be- 
tween their  souls.  This  real  man  was  not  the  Ken- 
ward  she  had  known,  any  more  than  she  was  the 
Nulma  with  whom  he  had  danced  on  that  last 
evening  of  her  happy  girl-life.  This  was  a  stern, 
forceful  being,  whom  she  must  obey,  and  with 
whom  there  could  be  no  shift  of  conventional  bar- 
riers and  excuses.  Instinctively  she  knew  this,  and 
there  was  not  a  thought  in  her  mind  of  resisting 
his  will. 

"What  is  the  truth?"  she  asked. 

'  That  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul, 
and  that  I  know  you  love  me.  And  after  that  truth, 
Nulma,  the  lie,  whatever  it  may  be,  that  made  you 
untrue  to  yourself  and  that  parted  us.  You  never 
loved  Van  Vechten;  you  loved  me!  Deny  it — if 
you  dare." 

274 


"  THERE'S   NO   THIRD    PLACE    IN    IT."       275 

"I  don't  dare.  If  I  denied  it,  you'd  have  the 
right  to  despise  and  hate  me.  I  don't  want  that. 
And  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it.  I  will  not  be  ashamed 
of  what  is  my  very  self." 

"  There  speaks  my  brave,  true  soul  of  the  Bush! 
my  free,  fearless  Nulma!  my  wild  wattle-flower! 
my  heart's  love!  " 

"  You  tell  me  that  I  am  your  heart's  love,  and 
that  is  why  I  am  not  ashamed.  I  did  not  know  it 
before;  and  I  wanted  to  hide  from  myself  and  from 
everyone  how  much  I  cared.  But  it  was  of  no  use! 
And  then,"  her  voice  dropped,  "  I  had  not  learned 
the  true  meaning  of  love." 

"  And  now,  Nulma,  what  has  taught  you  the 
true  meaning  of  love?" 

"  My  marriage!  "  she  said. 

He  had  expected  the  answer;  it  hurt  him. 

"You  are  not  married!"  he  cried.  "You  may 
wear  Van  Yechten's  ring  on  your  marriage-finger, 
but  vou  reallv  are  not  Van  Vechten's  wife.  Don't 
tell  me  to  believe  it.  Your  eyes  and  your  lips  deny 
it.  I've  read  the  look  on  brides'  faces;  it  isn't  on 
yours.  I  see  straight  down  into  the  depths  of  your 
dear  eyes.  They  are  the  eyes  of  a  girl.  Your  lips 
are  the  lips  of  a  girl.  It  is  not  your  marriage  which 
has  taught  you.  You  are  a  girl  still.  If  you  were 
not  a  girl  in  heart,  your  eyes  would  droop  before 
mine,  and  you  would  not  be  able  to  look  at  me  and 
say,  '  I  love  you! 

It  seemed  as  though  she  wished  to  answer  the- 


276 


NULMA. 


challenge,  for  she  said,  without  turning  away  her 
gaze: 

"  I  do  love  you.  But  my  marriage  has  been  to 
me  as  the  well  of  truth.  I  have  looked  deep  down 
into  it.  I  may  be  a  girl  still,  but  in  some  ways  I 
am  also  a  woman  to  know  good  from  evil." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two.  He  took 
away  her  hands  from  his  breast,  where  he  had  held 
them  tight  clasped,  and  very  quietly  kissed  them 
one  after  the  other.  He  held  the  left  one  longest. 
There  was  no  ring  on  it,  except  the  wedding  one. 
Then  he  laid  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"  I  understand  you.  I'm  sorry  for  him,  though 
he  is  called  your  husband.  I  am  still  more  sorry 
for  you  and  for  myself.  What  is  to  be  the  end  of 
it  all,  Nulma?" 

"  The  end !  "  she  said  wildly,  and  unconsciously ; 
then,  repeating  the  words  she  had  used  to  Van 
Vechten,  "  There  are  so  many,  many  years  to  live 
from  eighteen  to — fifty." 

"Only  eighteen!  Poor  little  child!  And  I'm 
nearly  fifty,  Nulma — getting  to  what  you  fancy  is 
the  end,  while  you  are  only  at  the  very  beginning. 
But  fifty  isn't  the  end,  child.  Life  goes  on  a  great 
deal  longer  than  that,  and  we've  either  got  to  sub- 
mit and  bear  it,  or  else  rebel  and  take  our  fate  into 
our  own  hands." 

He  watched  her  anxiously  as  he  spoke,  but  his 
words  did  not  seem  to  convey  to  her  any  meaning. 
Suddenly  she  asked: 


"THERE'S   NO   THIRD    PLACE    IN    IT." 


277 


"  How  is  it  that  you  came  to-night?  I  don't 
understand.  It  seems  so  wonderful  that  you  should 
be  here,  and  that  we  should  be  talking  like  this." 

'  There's  nothing  wonderful  in  it.  I  often  come 
out  on  the  river  on  hot  nights.  I  came  out  last 
night  and  drifted  across  here.  And  then  I  fancied 
that  I  saw  a  man  in  the  bushes  watching  you;  the 
thought  came  to  me  that  he  might  be  plotting  some 
mischief,  and  that  you  were  alone,  and — oh,  well, 
I  suppose  that  serves  for  a  decent  excuse  to  myself. 
But  it  doesn't  excuse  my  having  stolen  into  the 
garden  like  this.  The  fact  is  that  I  couldn't  stand 
it.  I  felt  that  I  must  look  at  your  dear  face  again; 
and  then,  when  I  saw  you  crying,  the  scales  fell 
off,  and  I  knew  that  if  it  were  only  for  once  in  our 
lives  we  two  must  see  straight  into  each  other's 
souls.  .  .  .  Nulma — the  truth — the  truth!  There's 
more  to  learn.  What  changed  you  in  those  few 
hours — from  the  time  you  gave  me  that  bit  of  wat- 
tle to  the  moment  when  you  threw  it  in  the  fire 
and  told  me  that  you  were  engaged  to  Van  Vech- 
ten?  You  were  not  engaged  to  Van  Vechten  when 
you  gave  me  that  wattle?" 

"  No." 

'  Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  what  do  things 
mean?  Impossible  that  you  could  have  become  en- 
gaged to  him  between  then  and  my  coming  out  to 
the  Bunyas!  " 

'  That  is  what  happened.  I  sent  for  him.  I 
asked  him  if  he  would  marry  me.     That  had  been 


2/8  NULMA. 

an  understanding  between  us.     I  think  I  once  told 
you." 

'  I  thought  it  a  child's  innocent  joke,  and  for 
that  very  reason  never  felt  jealous  of  Van  Vechten. 
Nulma,  be  honest  with  me.  I  will  not  stir  from  this 
spot  till  I  know  the  exact  truth.  What  made  you 
send  for  Van  Vechten?" 

"  Something  which  happened  to  make  me  doubt 
you,  and  that  hurt  me  bitterly  and  drove  me  wild 
with  pain  and  anger." 

'What  was  that?  Something  which  was  told 
you." 

'  I  was  led  to  believe  that  you  did  not  really 
care  for  me — that  you  had  only  just  a  passing  fancy 
for  my  face,  and  that,  if  you  yielded  to  it,  you  would 
always  be  sorry  for  having  broken  faith  with  another 
woman." 

Kenward  drew  a  deep  breath  as  if  he  had  been 
hurt. 

'  Were  you  told  who  that  woman  was?"      ' 

She,  too,  winced  with  pain  and  a  gnawing  terror 
which,  since  it  had  come  upon  her  first,  she  had 
striven  her  best  to  crush  out  of  life. 

"  It  was  true,  then?"  she  said  very  low.  "  You 
had  no  right  to  come  to  me?" 

"  I  had  only  the  right  of  a  man  who  loved  you — 
a  man  no  better  than  many  another  man  who  has 
forged  for  himself  unlawful  fetters,  and  perhaps  no 
worse.  I  make  no  pretence  to  being  a  saint.  I've 
lived  the  life  of  men  of  the  world — a  life  you  know 


"THERE'S   NO   THIRD    PLACE    IN    IT." 


279 


nothing  of  and  need  never  know.  I've  done  what 
yon  would  consider  very  evil  .  .  .  because  you 
don't  understand  the  base  nature  in  man  which 
makes  it  a  necessity  to  him  to  love,  and  causes  him 
to  love  in  so  many  degrees  and  fashions.  To  a  good 
woman  as  you  are,  love  means  only  one  thing.  To 
us  men  it  means  many  things,  until  at  last,  and 
once  only  in  our  lives,  the  true  angel  of  love  appears 
in  our  path,  and  we  are  rebaptized  and  regenerated, 
and  unworthy  love  is  henceforward  an  impossibil- 
ity to  us.  So  it  was  that,  unworthy  as  I  knew  my- 
self, I  still  dared  to  hope  that  our  lives  might  be 
one." 

He  had  got  up  from  the  bench,  and  was  stand- 
ing over  her,  his  face  working  with  emotion.  She, 
too,  had  risen,  and  her  eyes  were  searching  his,  and 
seemed  to  beseech  him  to  destroy  the  indeterminate 
horror  which  was  rising  between  them  and  blotting 
out  all  her  previous  conception  of  him. 

"  Don't,"  she  said — "  don't  tell  me  any  more; 
I'd  rather  not  know  that  you  were  bad." 

"  Nulma,  you  must  know  me  as  I  am.  I  said 
that  there  should  be  truth  between  us,  and  I  will 
tell  you  everything — everything  that  I  can  tell  you. 
There  are  things  in  a  man's  life  which  affect  others 
— whom  he  is  bound  to  guard,  and  of  which  he  may 
not  speak,  even  to  his  wife.  But  I  cannot  let  you 
go  on  believing  me  a  mere  brute — believing  I  could 
turn  from  you  to  another  as  the  fancy  took  me. 
Nulma,  give  me  your  hands." 


28o  NULMA. 

She  made  a  motion  as  if  she  would  have  re- 
fused, but  he  seized  her  two  hands  and  held  them 
again  tight  against  his  breast. 

"You  must  at  least  know  this,"  he  said:  "the 
— the  bond  of  which  you  were  told  had  been  broken 
before  I  ever  met  you.  There's  no  need  to  speak 
of  it.     I  owe  that,  at  any  rate -" 

"  Oh,"  she  interrupted  with  a  sharp  exclama- 
tion of  pain,  "  don't  hurt  me  more  than  you  can 
help!" 

"  /  hurt  you!  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling!  when 
I  think  of  the  long  hopeless  years  to  come,  I  feel 
that  I  could  die  to  make  you  happy.  But  there'd 
be  no  use  in  that,  Nulma;  you  wouldn't  be  happy 
if  I  were  gone  out  of  your  life  for  ever;  you'd  want 
me  to  stay  and  be  happy  with  you.  For  you  love 
me,  dearest;  you  have  told  me  so." 

"  No,"  she  cried;  "  you  are  wrong,  and  you  are 
gone  out  of  my  life  for  ever.  I  did  love  you;  I  do 
still  love  that  other  you,  who  yet  was  never  you, 
and  I  shall  always  love  him  and  think  of  him  as  my 
girl's  ideal,  standing  high  and  apart  from  all  other 
men,  but  who  is  dead,  or,  indeed,  who  only  existed 
in  a  girl's  dream." 

"  Not  in  a  girl's  dream,  Nulma,  but  in  a  woman's 
real  living  forgiving  love.  Don't  shrink  from  me, 
dear  angel.  Forgive  me,  and  take  me  into  your 
heart,  and  believe  that  my  eternal  love  for  you  is 
great  enough  to  bridge  over  the  gulf  between  angels 
and  erring  men.     Forgive  me,  Nulma!  " 


"THERE'S    NO   THIRD    PLACE    IN    IT."        28l 

She  shook  her  head  wildly,  and  tried  to  take 
away  her  hands. 

"  Let  me  go;  I  don't  want  ever  to  see  you 
again." 

"  Nulma,  it  is  impossible  that  I  can  let  you  go 
like  this.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  give  you 
up,  knowing  that  you  have  worked  yourself  into  a 
scorn  and  loathing  of  me  which  are  not  deserved. 
Bad  as  I  am,  I  have  not  wronged  you.  I  have  not 
been  false  to  you." 

"  You  have  not  wronged  me?  you  have  not  been 
false  to  me?"  she  repeated,  in  low,  scathing  tones. 
"  What  have  you  been  to  me  from  the  beginning 
but  a  living  lie?" 

;'  Be  merciful,  Nulma.  You  have  exaggerated 
the  evil  of  a  position  which  was  false,  I  own,  but 
was  unavoidable.  If  you  knew  the  world  better, 
you  would  not  judge  me  so  hardly." 

"  I  am  glad  that  I  do  not  know  the  world — your 
world.     I  wished  it  once;  I  do  not  now." 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  he  answered,  "that  you  should 
be  less  innocent,  less  ignorant,  than  you  are.  But 
by-and-by  the  horror  you  feel  will  pass,  and  then 
it  may  be  too  late  to  take  back  that  cruel  sentence. 
If  you  order  me  to  go,  I  will  throw  up  my  appoint- 
ment, and  leave  Leichardt's  Land.  But  oh,  Nulma, 
there  is  another  alternative." 

She  gave  him  a  swift,  piercing  glance,  and  then 
waited,  silent,  her  eyes  cast  down. 

"  Dearest,  you  love  me — in  my  very  soul  I  know 


282  NULMA. 

it;  and  I  love  you  and  cling  to  you  as  to  the  hope 
of  salvation.  1  can't  give  yon  up.  We  have  been 
sacrificed,  both  of  us — I  through  my  own  miser- 
able sin  and  folly,  and  you  innocently  through  me. 
Your  marriage  has  been  a  hideous  blunder;  undo 
it,  before  worse  suffering  comes.  I  am  ready  to 
throw  up  my  career,  everything,  for  you,  and  to 
count  the  world  well  lost  if  I  gain  you.  We  will 
go  to  America,  Europe,  anywhere  that  you  please, 
and  begin  a  new  life  together.  Trust  yourself  to  me, 
my  love — my  love;  you  will  never  regret  it." 

He  wound  his  arms  round  her,  and  the  girl, 
carried  away  by  his  vehemence,  let  him  draw  her  to 
him,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  her  head  lay  against 
his  breast,  and  the  cold  misery  in  her  upturned  face 
seemed  about  to  melt  under  the  warmth  of  his  ca- 
ress. But  the  very  touch  of  his  lips  roused  the 
sleeping  horror.  With  a  movement  of  repulsion  she 
wrenched  herself  free  from  him,  and  stood  quivering 
like  a  storm-swayed  lily,  reproaches  shining  in  her 
eyes,  and  rushing  brokenly  from  her  lips: 

"  It  is  wicked  of  you  to  speak  to  me  so.  You 
take  advantage  of  my  saying  that  I  loved  you,  to 
try  and  make  me  no  better  than  you  are  yourself. 
At  least,  I  can  be  faithful  to  something.  I  can  be 
faithful  to  a  girl's  dream,  and  I. will  not  let  you  say 
things  which  are  a  shame  and  an  insult  to  the  other 
you  I  loved.  But  you — to  what  are  you  faithful? 
Not  to  your  love  for  me,  for  you  want  to  drag  it 
down  to  the  level  of  that  other  love  which  you  are 


"THERE'S   NO   THIRD    PLACE    IN    IT."       283 

ashamed  of.  Did  you  ask  her  to  leave  her  husband 
for  you,  or  did  you  shelter  yourself  under  her  hus- 
band's friendship?  .  .  .  Oh,  I  am  not  innocent  nor 
ignorant  any  longer.  ...  I  understand  now  every- 
thing that  was  hidden  under  the  talk  and  the  laugh- 
ing, and  the  pretence  of  enjoying  life  and  doing  the 
right  thing,  and  being  popular  and  kind — kind  to 
ignorant,  silly  girls  like  me.  If  I  had  not  been  ig- 
norant and  silly  and  blind,  could  I  have  grown  to 
care  for  you?  Wouldn't  I  have  rushed  away  from 
it  all — in  shame  and  horror?  Wouldn't  I  have  gone 
to  daddy,  or  to  Uncle  Van,  as  I  want  to  go  now, 
and  make  them  keep  me  safe  with  them.  .  .  ?  No; 
don't  say  anything.  WThat  is  the  good  of  excuses? 
it's  over  and  done  with,  and  I'm  glad — glad  now. 
And  when  I  think  of  her — I  know  now  why  some- 
times I  shrank  from  her.  Oh,  the  poor  thing,  smil- 
ing and  pretending  to  be  happy,  and  her  heart 
breaking!  I  pity  her  from  the  depths  of  my  soul. 
.  .  .  But  you  have  no  pity  for  her,  and  in  time  you'd 
have  come  to  have  no  pity  for  me." 

"  Nulma,"  he  cried  out  despairingly,  for  she  had 
turned  away  with  no  further  farewell,  and  was  mov- 
ing towards  the  house,  "  have  you  not  one  kind 
word  for  me?  " 

She  paused. 

"  Go  to  her — that  other  woman — and  say  to  her 

what  you  have  said  to  me.    It  is  her  right,  not  mine. 

Good-bye,  Mr.  Kenward.     Do  not  come  here  any 

more.     I  am  going  to  my  husband,  and  I  will  tell 

19 


2S4 


NULMA 


him  everything.  I  will  ask  him  to  take  care  of  me 
and  keep  me  good."  Then  she  nttered  a  little  star- 
tled cry,  "  Caspar!  oh,  Caspar!  " 

A  man  stepped  from  behind  the  trellis,  and  went 
rapidly  towards  her,  not  turning  one  glance  on  Ken- 
ward.    He  took  her  in  his  arms. 

'  Nulma,  my  wife!  I  was  close  to  you,  waiting 
to  take  care  of  you — to  protect  you  even  against 
yourself.    Thank  God  there  was  no  need  for  that!  " 

She  had  flung  herself  upon  his  neck,  and  clung 
to  him  sobbing  hysterically  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Then  he  felt  the  grasp  relax,  and  her  form  hung 
inert  against  him.  He  saw  her  face  deadly  white  in 
the  moonlight,  and  her  eyes  closed,  and  he  knew 
that  she  had  fainted. 

He  carried  her  to  the  veranda,  and  laid  her  on 
a  basket-chair,  while  he  brought  restoratives  and 
chafed  her  hands  and  fanned  her.  Presently  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  shivered  violently. 

"  Caspar,  has  he  gone?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  dearest.  If  he  has  not  gone,  he 
will  go  before  long.  Don't  worry  about  it.  You 
are  safe  with  me." 

"  You.  heard,  Caspar?  " 

"  Everything,  my  child.  I  have  no  shame  in 
telling  you  that  I  watched  your  meeting,  and  that 
I  waited  and  listened  to  all  that  passed  between  you. 
I  need  not  have  feared  for  you,  my  wife.  I  did  not 
doubt  that  you  were  brave  and  pure,  but  I  knew 
that    you    loved    him,    and    I    trembled    for    what 


"THERE'S   NO   THIRD    PLACE    IN    IT."       285 

might  come.  I  would  have  died  to  save  you, 
Nulma." 

She  clung  to  him  anew. 

"  It's  all  over  now,  my  foolish  girlish  dream. 
Oh,  Caspar,  what  have  I  done?  I  have  ruined  your 
life,  too.  Our  marriage  is  indeed  a  hideous  blun- 
der." 

"  I  think  not.  If  it  were  all  to  be  done  over 
again,  and  I  could  begin  here  now  and  win  you 
as  I  would  wish  to  win  you,  I  am  almost  certain 
that  you  would  not  find  our  marriage  a  hideous 
blunder.    Will  you  let  me  try,  Nulma?  " 

She  put  her  hand  in  his  and  stroked  it  softly. 

"  Haven't  you  been  trying  all  along — to  win 
me?     And  I  don't  deserve  it." 

'  Not  in  the  right  way.  Nulma,  I'm  going  to 
quote  you  something  out  of  a  play  I'm  very  fond 
of.  It  is  called  '  The  Duchess  of  Malfi.'  And  these 
are  the  lines: 

'' '  Marriage  is  either  heaven  or  hell : 
There's  no  third  place  in  it.'  " 

"  I  like  that,"  she  said;  "  it's  true.  I  should  like 
you  to  read  me  the  whole  of  that  play." 

"  Very  well.  I  will  read  it  to  you  on  winter 
evenings  in  England,  when  we  sit  Darby  and  Joan 
fashion  by  our  own  fireside." 

"In  England?" 

"  I'm  going  to  take  you  away,  Nulma,  now 
at  once,  and  to  begin  my  work  of  wooing  my 
wife." 


286  NULMA. 

"  But — oh,  Caspar,  it  is  what  I  longed  for!  But 
the  work,  the  business,  everything  that's  important, 
how  can  you  leave  it  all?" 

'  Nothing  is  of  any  importance  in  comparison 
with  what  is  best  for  you.  That  can  be  easily  ar- 
ranged. Anyhow,  I'm  going  to  set  about  arranging 
it  to-morrow." 

She  raised  herself  in  the  big  chair,  and  her  eyes 
roamed  over  the  garden. 

'  Dearest,"  he  said,  "  are  you  better  now? 
Would  you  like  to  go  to  bed?" 

"  What  is  the  time,  Caspar?  " 

:<  It  struck  eleven  not  very  long  ago.  Shall  I 
carry  you  to  your  room  ?  " 

"  No — no;  I  can  walk.  I  am  quite  well.  How 
stupid  it  was  of  me  to  faint!  I  have  never  fainted 
in  my  life  before.  .  .  .  Caspar,  it's  been  very  lonely 
here." 

"  Poor  child!  And  these  long  two  days  you 
have  been  by  yourself,  brooding  over  your  sad 
fancies." 

"  The  place  is  full  of  ghosts,"  she  went  on. 
"  There's  the  ghost  of  daddy,  who  is  gone  for  ever, 
and  of  a  man  called  Uncle  Van,  who  was  always 
good  to  me,  but  who  seems  somehow  to  have  died, 
too;  and  there  are  the  ghosts  of  a  man  and  woman 
who  I  think  must  have  been  fallen  spirits,  sent  to 
earth  for  each  other's  punishment;  and  there's  the 
ghost  of  a  girl  whose  name  was  Nulma,  and  who  is 
dead  and  gone,  like  the  rest  of  them.     That  mar- 


"THERE'S   NO   THIRD   PLACE    IN   IT."       287 

riage  service  in  the  churches  in  Melbourne  was  her 
burial  service." 

"  I  will  take  you  away,  dear,  from  all  these  mel- 
ancholy dreams.  I  ought  never  to  have  yielded  to 
your  wish  of  being  here  alone." 

"  No;  it  was  good  for  me.  I  seem  to  have 
learned  a  great  deal  in  these  two  days.  Perhaps 
daddy's  spirit  spoke  to  me.  All  the  time  someone 
or  something  seemed  to  be  saying  to  me,  There's 
nothing  so  good  as  love.  Love  is  the  only  thing. 
Marriage  without  love  is — what  you  said,  Caspar. 
And  I  seemed  to  look  forward,  and  to  see  years  and 
years  ahead,  of  loneliness  and  strangeness,  and  you 
and  I  growing  further  apart,  friends  no  longer  as 
we  vised  to  be,  understanding  each  other  no  longer 
— always  with  that  black,  awful  wall  which  mar- 
riage raised  between  us,  growing  deeper  and  higher. 
And  that  was  why,  as  I  sat  in  the  garden  this  even- 
ing, I  cried  and  cried  in  my  despair." 

"  Nulma,"  he  exclaimed,  "  give  me  your  trust, 
child;  take  me  into  your  life.  I  will  be  so  good  to 
you.  I  will  not  exact  too  much;  I  will  be  patient; 
I  will  wait.  Some  day  you  will  come  to  me  your- 
self and  say,  '  I  am  your  wife,  Caspar.'  Till  then 
I  will  be  to  you  your  brother,  friend,  whatever  you 
like  best,  only  there  must  be  no  wall  between  us, 
dearest.  From  this  moment  I  destroy  it."  He  took 
her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  on  her  lips.  "  Hence- 
forth, my  darling,  my  life  is  yours,  and  your  life  is 
mine,  and  the  wall,  instead  of  dividing  us,  closes 


288  NULMA. 

us  in  and  round,  and  is  the  wall  of  our  home,  into 
which  no  other  man  shall  come.  'That  is  the 
real  meaning  of  marriage.  It  is  a  home,  not  a 
tomb." 

"  Heaven  or  hell,"  she  repeated.  "  How  does  it 
go?    There  is  no  third  place  in  it." 

''  Nulma,"  he  whispered,  "  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  something  that  will  show  you  how  much  I  love 
you.  Dear,  I  had  a  feeling  that  he  would  come  to 
you  this  evening.  Last  night  I  was  here;  I  saw 
him  in  his  boat;  I  watched  him  land.  I  knew  that 
he  had  seen  you,  and  would  not  be  content  with 
that  only.  I  had  a  great  fear,  Nulma.  I  knew  that 
my  wife  was  pure  as  snow  and  true  as  steel;  but 
I  was  afraid.  And  I  resolved,  dearest,  that  if  your 
love  conquered,  and  he  made  you  promise  to  give 
your  life  into  his  keeping — then,  my  wife,  I  resolved 
that  you  should  be  free  to  do  so  without  regret  or 
dishonour." 

The  girl  started,  and  looked  up  at  him  with 
frightened  eyes. 

"  Uncle  Van,  do  you  mean  that  you  would  have 
gone  away  and  left  me?  " 

"  Yes;  I  would  have  gone  away — a  long  way, 
my  dear.  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  set  great  store 
on  life,  and  mine  seems  to  me  now  only  valuable 
in  so  far  as  it  contributes  to  your  happiness.  If  by 
giving  it  up  I  could  secure  that  for  you,  I  would 
do  so  gladly." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Van!"  she  cried  shrilly.     "You 


"THERE'S   NO   THIRD    PLACE    IN    IT." 


289 


didn't  mean  that — you  couldn't  mean  that  you  would 
have  died  for  me?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  I  meant  it;  but  don't  let  it  distress 
you.  That's  all  over  now.  I  only  tell  you  that  you 
may  understand  my  love,  and  know  that  you  need 
never  hesitate  to  give  me  your  full  confidence,  or 
to  ask  me  to  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you, 
even  to  the  giving  up  of  my  life.  I  thought  it  out 
as  I  stood  waiting  and  watching — to  guard  you, 
my  Nulma.  It  would  have  been  quite  simple.  Nei- 
ther you  nor  anyone  else  would  have  guessed  the 
truth.  A  fall  over  the  landslip  by  the  river-path, 
which  we  were  saying  only  the  other  day  would  be 
so  dangerous  on  a  cloudy  night — just  the  sort  of 
place  where  an  accident  might  so  easily  hap- 
pen  " 

"Caspar — oh,  Caspar,  my  husband!"  Nulma's 
arms  were  round  Van  Vechten's  neck,  her  slight 
form  pressed  against  his  as  she  sobbed.  "  Oh,  don't 
kill  me  by  saying  things  like  that!  I  can't  bear  it. 
I  couldn't  lose  you  now.  There's  no  one  in  the  world 
cares  for  me  as  you  do.     I  love  you,  Caspar!" 

Then  Van  Vechten  knew  that  the  struggle  was 
over,  and  that  he  had  won.  He  clasped  Nulma 
close,  and  their  lips  met  in  the  first  impassioned  kiss 
that  had  ever  been  exchanged  between  them.  For 
a  long  time  she  lay  thus  in  his  arms,  and  then  he 
said  to  her: 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  take  my  wife  home." 


290  NULMA. 

From  that  night  of  memories,  when  Caspar  Van 
Vechten  won  his  wife,  a  curtain  seemed  to  fall  be- 
tween Nulma  and  her  past.  Kenward  made  a  pre- 
text for  leaving  Leichardt's  Town  on  the  following 
day,  and  she  never  again  saw  his  face  in  Leichardt's 
Land.  Before  the  Government  House  party  came 
back  from  their  summer  quarters  on  Ubi  Downs, 
Nulma  and  her  husband  had  sailed  for  Europe,  so 
that,  between  her  and  Margot  Keefe  also,  the  cur- 
tain dropped. 

The  Van  Vechtens  were  away  for  several  years. 
Governor  Burnside  died  during  their  absence,  in  the 
fourth  year  of  his  term  of  Office.  An  impoverished 
peer  was  appointed  in  his  stead,  and  there  reigned 
an  elderly  Viscountess,  deeply  impressed  with  the 
mission  she  felt  had  been  delivered  unto  her,  of 
regenerating  society  in  Leichardt's  Land.  Thus, 
when  Nulma  again  visited  Government  House, 
where  the  opening-scenes  of  her  girl-drama  had 
been  played,  the  place  appeared  no  longer  the  same, 
and  Lady  Arthur  Keefe  seemed  as  much  a  ghost  as 
Lady  Randal  had  been  to  her  successors.  With 
this  difference,  perhaps,  that  years  added  honour 
to  Lady  Randal's  memory,  and  obloquy  to  that  of 
poor,  frail  Margot  Keefe. 

Happily  for  the  annals  of  Leichardt's  Land,  the 
culminating  act  of  Lady  Arthur  Keefe's  drama  was 
played  upon  another  stage.  Habit  is  strong,  and  a 
clever  woman,  determined  not  to  lose  the  man  she 
loves,  and  who  has  once  loved  her,  will,  under  con- 


"THERE'S   NO   THIRD   PLACE    IN    IT." 


291 


ditions  of  almost  forced  propinquity,  find  no  great 
difficulty  in  welding  anew  the  broken  chain.  But 
her  later  relations  with  Kenward  and  the  scandal 
they  made  came  after  the  Governor's  death  and  the 
resignation  of  the  Chief  Justice,  and  have  no  part 
in  this  story  of  Nulma's  girlhood. 


THE    END. 


APPLETONS'    TOWN   AND   COUNTRY  LIBRARY. 

PUBLISHED    SEMIMONTHLY. 


1.  The  Steel  Hammer.    By  Louis  Ulbach. 

2.  Eve.    A  Novel.    By  S.  Baking-Gould. 

3.  For  Fifteen  Years.    A  Sequel  to  The  Steel  Hammer.    By  Louis  Ulbach. 

4.  A  Counsel  of  Perfection.    A  Novel.    By  Lucas  Malet. 

5.  The  Deemster.    A  Romance.    By  Hall  Caine. 

5.J-.  The  Bondman.    (New  edition.)    By  Hall  Caine. 
6."  A  Virginia  Inheritance.    By  Edmund  Pendleton. 

7.  Ninette :  An  Idyll  of  Provence.    By  the  author  of  Vera. 

8.  "  The  Right  Honourable.''''  By  Justin  McCarthy  and  Mrs.  Campbell-Praed  > 

9.  The  Silence  of  Dean  Maitland.    By  Maxwell  Gray. 

10.  Mrs.  Lorimer :  A  Study  in  Black  and  White.    By  Lucas  Malet. 

11.  The  Elect  Lady.    By  George  MacUonald. 

12.  The  Mystery  of  the  "  Ocean  Star."    By  W.  Clark  Russell. 

13.  Aristocracy.    A  Novel. 

14.  A  Recoiling  Vengeance.    Bv  Frank  Barrett.    With  Illustrations. 

15.  The    Secret  of  Fontaine-la- Croix.    By  Margaret  Field. 

16.  The  Master  of  Rathkelly.    By  Hawley  Smart. 

17.  Donovan:  A  Modern  Englishman.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

18.  This  Mortal  Coil.    By  Grant  Allen. 

19.  A  Fair  Emigrant.    By  Rosa  Mulholland. 

20.  The.  Apostate.    By  Ernest  Daudet. 

21.  Raleigh  H'<  stgate  ;  or,  Epimenides  in  Maine.     By  Helen  Kendkick  Johnson. 

22.  Arius  the  Libyan.     A  Romance  of  the  Primitive  Church. 

23.  Constance,  and  Calbot's  Rival.    By  Julian  Hawthorne. 

24.  We  Two.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

25.  A  Dreamer  of  Dreams.    By  the  author  of  Thoth. 

26.  The  Ladies'  Gallery.    By  Justin  McCarthy  and  Mrs.  Campbell-Praed. 

27.  The  Reproach  of  Annesley.    By  Maxwell  Gray. 

28.  Near  to  Happiness. 

29.  In  the  Wirt  Grass.    By  Louis  Pendleton. 

30.  Lace.    A  Berlin  Romance.    Bv  Paul  Lindau. 
30}.  The  Black  Poodle.    By  F.  Anstey. 

31.  American  Coin.    A  Novel..    By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 

32.  Won  by  Waiting.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

33.  The  Story  of  Helen  Davenant.    By  Violet  Fane. 

34.  The  Light  of  Her  Countenance.    By  H.  H.  Boyesen. 

35.  Mistress  Beatrice  Cope.    My  M.  E.  Le  Clerc. 

36.  The  Knight-Errant.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

37.  In  the  Golden  Days.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

38.  Giraldi ;  or,  The  Curse  of  Love.    By  Ross  George  Dering. 

39.  A  Hardy  Norseman.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

40.  The  Romance  of  Jenny  Harlowe,  and    Sketches  of  Maritime  Life.    By  W. 

Clark  Russell. 

41.  Passion's  Slave.    By  Richard  Ashe-King. 

42.  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Fenwick.    By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

43.  Countess  Loreley.    Translated  from  the  German  of  Rudolf  Menger. 

44.  Blind  Love.    By  Wilkie  Con. ins. 

45.  The  Dean's  Daughter.    By  Sophie  F.  F.  VEiTcn. 

46.  Countess  Irene.    A  Romance  of  Austrian  Life.    By  J.  Fogerty. 

47.  Robert  Brownwfs  Principal  Shorter  Po  'its. 

48.  Fro::,  a  Hearts.   By  G.  Webb  Afpleton. 

49.  Djambek  the  Georgian.    By  A.  <..  von  Sttttneb. 

50.  The  Crazeof  Christian  Wngelhart.     Bv  Hknuy  Faulkner  Darnell. 

51.  Lai.    By  William  A.  Hammond.  M.  D. 
51.'.  Aline.    A  Novel.    By  Henri  Grevtlle. 

53.  Joost  Avelingh.    A  Dutch  Story.    By  Maarten  Maartenb. 

54.  Eaty  of  Catoctin.    By  George  Alfred  Townsentj. 

55.  Throckmorton.     A  Novel.     By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 

56.  h'ljuii, iation.    By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 
67.  Geoffrey  Hampslead.    By  T.  S.  Jarvis. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY. -{Continued) 

68.  Dmitri.     A  Romance  of  Old  Russia.    By  F.  W.  Bain,  M.  A. 
59    Fart  of  the  Property.    By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

00.  Bismarck  in  Private  Life.    By  a  Fellow-student. 

01.  In  Low  Relief.    By  Morley  Roberts. 

02.  The  Canadians  of  Old.    A  Historical  Romance.    By  Philippe  Gaspe\ 

03.  A  Squire  of  Low  Degree.    By  Lily  A.  Long. 

04.  A  Fluttered  Dovecote.    By  George  Manville  Fenn. 

0").    The  Nugents  of  Carriconna.    An  Irish  Story.    By  Tighe  Hopkins. 
00.  A  St  nsilive  Plant.    By  E.  and  D.  Gerard. 

07.  Doha  Luz.    By  Juan  Valera.    Translated  by  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Serrano. 

08.  Pepita  Ximenez.    By  Juan  Valeka.    Translated  by  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Serrano. 

09.  The  Primes  and  their  Neighbors.    By  Richard  Malcolm  Johnston. 

70.  The  Iron  Game.    By  Henry  P.  Keenan. 

71.  Stories  of  Old  New  Spain.    By  Thomas  A.  Janvier. 

72.  The  Maid  of  Honor.    By  Hon.  Lewis  Wingfield. 

73.  In  the  Heart  of  the  Storm.    By  Maxwell  Gray. 

74.  Consequences.    By  Egerton  Castle. 

75.  The  Three  Miss  Kings.    By  Ada  Cambridge. 
70.  A  Matter  of  Skill.    By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

77.  Maid  Marian,  and  Other  Stories.    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 

78.  One  Woman's  Way.    By  Edmund  Pendleton. 

79.  A  Merciful  Divorce.     By  F.  W.  Maude. 

80.  Stephen  EllicotVs  Daughter.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

81.  One  Reason  Why.    By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

82.  The  Tragedy  of  Ida  Noble.    By  W.  Clark  Russell. 

83.  The  Johnstown  Stage,  and  other  Stories.    By  Rosert  H.  Fletcher. 

84.  A  Widower  Indeed.    By  Rhoda  Broughton  and  Elizabeth  Bisland. 

85.  The  Flight  of  a  Shadow.    By  George  MacDonald. 
80.  Love  or  Money.    By  Katharine  Lee. 

87.  Not  All  in  Vain.    By  Ada  Cambridge. 

88.  It  Happened  Yesterday.    By  Frederick  Marshall. 

89.  My  Guardian.    By  Ada  Cambridge. 

90.  The  Story  of  Philip  Methuen.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

91.  Amethyst :  The  Story  of  a  Beauty.     By  Christabel  R.  Coleridge- 

92.  Don  Braulio.    By  Juan  Valera.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell. 

93.  The  Chronicles  of  Mr.  Bill  Williams.    By  Richard  Malcolm  Johnston. 

94.  A  Queen  of  Curds  and  Cream.    By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

95.  "  La  Bella  "  and  Others.    By  Egerton  Castle. 
90.  "  December  Roses."    By  Mrs.  Campbell- Praee. 

97.  Jean  de  Kerdren.    By  Jeanne  Schultz. 

98.  Etelka's  Vow.    By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

99.  Cross  Currents.    By  Mary  A.  Dickens. 

100.  His  Life's  Magnet.    By  Theodora  Elmslie. 

101.  Passing  the  Love  of  Women.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

102.  In  Old  St.  Stephen's.    By  Jeanie  Drake. 

103.  The  Berkeleys  and  their  Neighbors.    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 
104  Mona  Maclean,  Medical  Student.    By  Graham  Travbrs. 

105.  Mrs.  Bligh.    By  Rhoda  Broughton. 

100.  A  Stumble  on  the  Threshold.    By  James  Payn. 

107.  Hanging  Moss.    By  Paul  Lindau. 

108.  A  Comedy  of  Elopement.    By  Christian  Reid. 

109.  In  the  Suntime  of  her  Youth.    By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

110.  Stoiies  in  Black  and  White.    By  TnoMAs  Hardy  and  OtherB. 
110$.  An  Englishman  in  Paris.    Notes  and  Recollections. 

111.  Commander  Mendoza.    Bv  Juan  Valera. 

112.  Dr.  Fault's  Theory.    By  Mrs.  A.  M.  Diehl. 

113.  Children  of  Destiny.    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 

114.  A  Little  Minx.     By  Ada  Cambridge. 

115.  Capt'n  Davy's  Honeymoon.    ByHALLCAiNE. 
110.  The  Voice  of  a  Flower.    By  E.  Gerard. 

117.  Singularly  Deluded.    By  Sarah  Grand. 

118.  Suspected.    By  Louisa  Stratenus. 

119.  Lucia,  Hugh,  and  Another.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 
W0.   The  Tutor's  Secret.    By  Victor  Cueriiuliez. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY. -(Continued.) 

121.  From  the  Five  Rivers.    By  Mrs.  F.  A.  Steel. 

122.  An  Innocent  Impostor,  and  Other  Stories.    By  Maxwell  Grat. 

123.  Iaeata.    By  Sarah  Grand. 

124.  A  Comedy  of  Masks.    Bv  Ernest  Dowson  and  Arthcr  Moore. 

125.  Relics.    By  Prances  MacINab. 

126.  Dodo :  A  Detail  of  the  Day.    By  E.  F.  Benson. 

127.  A  Woman  of  Forty.    By  Esme  Stuart. 

128.  Diana  Tempest.    By  Mart  Cholmondeley. 

129.  The  Recipe  for  Diamonds.    By  C.  J.  Cutcliffe  Htnb. 

130.  Christina  Chard.    By  Mrs.  Campbell-Praed. 

131.  A  Gray  Eye  or  So.    By  Frank  Frankfort  Moore. 

132.  Earlscaurt.    By  Alexander  Allardtce. 

133.  A  Marriage  Ceremony.     By  Ada  Cambridge. 

134.  A  Ward  in  Chancery.     By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

135.  Lot  13.    By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

136.  Our  Manifold  Nature.     By  Sarah  Grand. 

137.  A  Costly  Freak.    By  Maxwell  Grat. 

138.  A  Beginner.    By  Ehoda  Broughton. 

139.  A  Yellow  Aster.     By  Mrs.  Mannington  Cafftn  ("  Iota"). 

140.  The  Rubicon.    By  E.  F.  Benson. 

141.  The  Trespasser.    Bjr  Gilbert  Parker. 

142.  The  Rich  Miss  Riddell.    By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

143.  Mary  Fenwick's  Daughter.    By  Teatrice  Whitby. 

144.  Red  Diamonds.    By  Justin  McCarthy. 

145.  A  Daughter  of  Music.    By  G.  Colmore. 

143.  Outlaw  and  Lawmaker.     By  Mrs.  Campbell-Praed. 

147.  Dr.  Janet  of  Harley  Street.    By  Arabella  Kenealy. 

148.  George  Mdnde villus  Husband.    BvC.  E.  Raimond. 

149.  Vash'ti  and  Esther. 

150.  Timai-'s  Two  Worlds.    By  M.  Jokai. 

151.  A  Victim  of  Good  Luck.     By  W.  E.  Norris. 

152.  The  Trail  of  the.  Sicord.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

153.  A  Mild  Barbarian.    By  Edgar  Fawcett. 

154.  The  God  in  the.  Car.    By  Anthont  Hope. 

155.  Children  of  Circumstance.     By  Mrs.  M.  Caffyn. 

156.  At  the  Gate  of  Samaria.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

157.  The  Justification,  of  Andrew  Lebrun.     By  Frank  Bav.eett. 
158   Dust  and  Laurels.    By  Mary  L.  Pendered. 

159.  The  Good  Ship  Mohock.    By  W.  Clark  Russell. 
100.  Xoemi.    By  S.  Baring-Gould. 

161.  The  Honour  of  Savelli.     By  S.  Levett  Yeats. 

162.  Kitty's  Engagement.    By  Florence  Warden. 

163.  The  Mermaid.    By  L.  Dougall. 

104.  An  Arranged  Marriage.    By  Dorothea  Gerard. 
165.  Eve's  Ransom.    By  George  Gissing. 

160.  The  Marnage  of  Esther.    By  Guy  Boothby. 

167.  Fidelis.    By  Ada  Cambridge. 

168.  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges.    By  F.  F.  Montresor. 

109.    The  Vengeiuie>  of  Janus  Van  sit  tart.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

170.  A  Study  in.  Prejudices.     By  George  Paston. 

171.  The  Mistress  Of  Quest.     By  Adeline  Sergeant. 

172.  In  the  Y-ar  of Jubilee.     By  (.eorge  Gissing. 

173.  In  Old  New  England.   BvHezekiah  Butterworth. 

174.  Mrs.  Musgrave-   and  Her  Husband.     By  R.  Marsh. 

175.  Not  Counting  the  Cost.     By  Tasma. 

170.   (>ut  of  Due  Season.     By  Adeline  Sergeant. 
177.  ScyUaor  Charybdisf    By  Rhoda  Broughton. 
17H.  In  Defiance  of  the  King.    By  C.  C.  IIotciikiss. 

179.     I   Bid  for  Fortune.     By  GUY  BOOTHBY. 

;W).    The  King  of  Andaman.     By  .1.  Maclaken  Cobban. 

181.  Mrs.  Tregaskins.    By  Mrs.  Campbell-Praed. 

182.  The  Desin  01  the  Moth.    By  Capel  Vane. 
1^-3.  A  Self-Denying  Ordinance.    By  M.  Hamiltom. 
184.  Successors  to  the  Title.     By  Mrs.  L.  B.  Walfoiid. 


APPLETONS'   TOWN   AND   COUNTRY   LIBRARY.-(Co;i/i«»/^/.) 

185.  1'lf  Lost  Stradivarius.    By  J.  Meade  Falkner. 

186.  The  Wrong  Man.    By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

187.  In  tlf  Day  of  Adversity,    by  J.  Bloundelle-Burton. 
ivs.  Mistress  Dorothy  Marvin.    By  J.  C.  Snaith. 

189.  .1  Mash  Of  Summer.    By  Mrs.  W.  K.  Clifford. 

190.  /'A.  Dancer  in  Fellow.    By  W.  E.  Norris. 

191.  I'h'  Chronicles  of  Martin  lieu  itt.    By  Arthur  Morrison. 

192.  .1   Win  unit  Hazard.    By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

198  The  l'f  tare  of  Las  Cruces.    By  Christian  Reid. 

194.  Tht  Madonna  of  a  Day.    By  L.  Dougall. 

195.  The  Riddle  Ring.    By  Justin  McCarthy. 
136.  .1  1 1  a  i  n  hie  Enterprise.     By  Ada  Cambridge. 

197.  Dr.  Nikola.    By  Guy  Bootiiby. 

198.  An  Outcast  of  the  Islands.     By  Joseph  Conrad. 

193.  The  King's  Revenge.    By  Claude  Bray. 
■jnil.  1 1,  ninlllCi  ■/.     By  J.   Bloindelle-Burtoit. 
201.  A  Court  Intrigue.    By  Basil  Thompson. 
2ii»\  Th,  Idol-Maker.    By  Adeline  Sergeant. 
808.  The  Intriguers.    By  John  D.  Barry. 

204.  Mask  r  Ardick,  Buccaneer.    By  F.  H.  Costello. 

205.  With  Fortune  Made.    By  Victor  Chkhbuliez. 

206.  Fellow  Travellers.    By  Graham  Travers. 

207.  McLeodofthe  Camerons.    By  M.  Hamilton. 

208.  The  Career  of  Candida.    By  George  Paston. 

209.  Arrested.    Bv  Esme  Stuart. 

210.  Tatterley.    By  T.  Gallon. 

211.  A  Pinchbeck  Goddess.    By  Mrs.  J.  M.  Fleming  (Alice  M.  Kipling). 
21-2.  Perfection  City.    By  Mrs.  Orpen. 

213.  A  Spotless  Reputation.    By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

214.  A  Galahad  of  the  Creeks.    By  S.  Levett  Yeats. 

215.  The  Beautiful  White  Devil.    By  Guy  Boothby. 
210.  The  Sun  of  Saratoga.    By  Joseph  A.  Altsheler. 

217.  Fierceheart,  the  Soldier.     By  J.  C.  Snaith. 

218.  Marietta's  Marriage.    By  W.  E.  Norris. 

219.  Dear  Faustina.    By  Rhoda  Broughton. 

220.  Riilma.    By  Mrs.  Campbell-Praed. 

Each,  12mo,  paper  cover,   50  cents  j  cloth,  $1,00. 


GEORG    EBERS'S    ROMANCES. 

Each,  lGmo,  paper,   40    cents  per  volume ;    cloth,  75  cents. 
Sets  of  '£4  volumes,  cloth,  in  box,  $18. OO. 

In  the  Blue  Pike.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.     1  volume. 
In  the  Fire  of  the  Forge.     Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    2  volumes. 
Cleopatra.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    2  volumes. 
A  Thorny  Path.    (PerAspera.)    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    2  volumes. 
An  Egyptian  Princess.     Translated  by  Eleanor  Grove.    2  volumes. 
Uarda.'    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.     2  volumes. 
Homo  Sum.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    1  volume. 
The  Sisters.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    1  volume. 
A  Question.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    1  volume. 
The  Emperor.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    2  voluiv.es. 
The  Burgomaster's  Wife.     Translated  by  Mary-  J.  Safford.    1  volume. 
A  Word,  only  a  Word.     Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    1  volume. 
Serapis.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.     1  volume. 
The  Bride  of  the  Nile.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    2  volumes. 
Margery.    (Gred.-)    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    2  volumes. 
Joshua.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.     1  volume. 

The  Elixir,   and  Other   Tales.      Translated  by  Mrs.  Edward  II.  Bell. 
■\Vith  Portrait  of  the  Author.     1  volume. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers :  or  sent  by  mail  on  receipt  of  pries  by  the  publishers, 
D.  APPLETON   AND   COMPANY,   NEW  YORK. 


D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

By  A.  CONAN    DOYLE. 
Uniform  edition,     12 mo.     Cloth,  $1.50  per  volume. 

T  JNCLE  BERN  AC.       A    Romance   of  the   Empire. 

^     Illustrated. 

This  brilliant  historical  romance  pictures  Napoleon's  threatened  invasion 
of  England  when  his  forces  were  encamped  at  Boulogne.  The  story  abounds 
in  dramatic  incidents,  and  the  adventures  of  the  hero  will  be  followed  with 
intense  interest  by  a  multitude  of  readers. 

ID  ODNE  Y  STONE.     Illustrated. 

"A  remarkable  book,  worthy  of  the  pen  that  gave  us  'The  White  Company,' 
'  Micah  Clarke,'  and  oiher  notable  romances." — London  Daily  News. 

"  A  notable  and  very  brilliant  work  of  genius. " — London  Speaker. 

"'  Rodney  Stone  '  is,  in  our  judgment,  distinctly  the  best  of  Dr.  Con  an  Doyle's 
novels.  .  .  .  There  are  few  descriptions  in  fiction  that  can  vie  with  that  race  upon  the 
Brighton  road."—  London  Times. 


T 


HE  EXPLOITS  OF  BRIGADIER    GERARD- 

A  A'omance  of  the  Life  of  a    Typical  Napoleonic  Soldier.     Illus- 
trated. 

"The  brigadier  is  brave,  resolute,  amorous,  loyal,  chivalrous;  never  was  a  foe  mnr 
ardent  in  battle,  more  clement  in  victory,  or  more  ready  at  need.  .  .  .  Gallantry,  humo", 
martial  yayety,  moving  incident,  make  up  a  really  delightful  book." — London  Times. 

"  May  he  set  down  without  reservation  as  the  most  thoroughly  enjoyable  book  that 
Dr.  Doyle  has  ever  published." — Boston  Beacon. 

^JTIIE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.     Being   a 
-*        Series   of  Twelve    Letters   written    by  Stark   Munro,  M.  B., 
to  his  friend  and  former  fellow-student,  Herbert  Swanborough, 
of  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  during    the   years  1881-1884.     Illus- 
trated. 

'*  Cullingworth,  ...  a  much  more  interesting  creation  than  Sherlock  Holmes,  and 
I  pray  Dr.  Doyle  to  give  us  more  of  him. " — Richard  le  Galliennc,  in  the  Lorntt  n  i  tar. 

"  'The  Stark  Munro  Letters'  is  a  bit  of  real  literature.  ...  Its  reading  will  be  an 
epoch-making  event  in  many  a  life." — Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

JDOUND     THE    RED    LAMP.      Being  Facts   and 

■*    *-     Fancies  of  Medical  Life. 

"Too  much  can  not  be  said  in  praise  of  these  strong  productions,  that  to  read, 
keep  one's  heart  leaping  to  the  throat,  and  the  mind  in  a  tumult  of  anticipation  to  the 
end.  .  .  .  No  series  of  short  stories  in  modern  literature  can  approach  them." — Hart- 
ford Times. 

"Tf  Dr.  A.  'Conan  Doyl*-  had  not  already  placed  himself  in  the  front  rank  of  living 
1  i  .dish  writers  by  'The  Refugees,'  and  other  of  his  larger  stories,  he  would  surely  do 
so  by  these  fifteen  short  tales." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

D.    APPLETON  AND  COMPANY.  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


L 


BY  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 

Uniform  edition.     Each,  i2mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

ADS'  LOVE.     Illustrated. 


In  this  fresh  and  charming  story,  which  in  some  respects  recalls 
"The  Lilac  Sunbonnet,"  Mr.  Crockett  returns  to  Galloway  and  pictures  the 
humor  and  pathos  of  the  life  which  he  knows  so  well. 


'LEG    KELLY,    ARAB    OF    THE    CLTY.      His 

Progress  and  Adventures.     Illustrated. 


c 

"A.  masterpiece  which  Mark  Twain  himself  has  never  rivaled.  .  .  .  If  there  ever 
was  an  •  ideal  character  in  fiction  it  is  this  heroic  ragamuffin."  —  London  Daily 
Chronicle. 

"  In  no  one  of  his  books  does  Mr.  Crockett  give  us  a  brighter  or  more  graphic 
picture  of  contemporary  Scotch  life  than  in  '  Cleg  Kelly.'  ...  It  is  one  of  the  great 
books.  --Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  One  of  the  most  successful  of  Mr.  Crockett's  works."— Brooklyn  Eagle. 

T30G-MYRTLE  AND  PEAT.     Third  edition. 

"  Here  are  idyls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life,  written  in  words  that  thrill  and 
burn.  .  .  .Each  is  a  poem  that  has  an  immortal  flavor.  They  are  fragments  of 
the  author's  early  dreams,  too  bright,  too  gorgeous,  too  full  of  the  blood  of  rubies 
and  the  life  of  diamonds  to  be  caught  and  held  palpitating  in  expression's  grasp." — 
Boston  Courier. 

"  Hardly  a  sketch  among  them  all  that  will  not  afford  pleasure  to  the  reader  for 
its  genial  humor,  artistic  local  coloring,  and  admirable  portrayal  of  character." — 
Boston  Home  Journal. 

"One  dips  into  the  hook  anywhere  and  reads  on  and  on,  fascinated  by  the  writer's 
charm  of  manner." — Minneapolis  Tribune. 

^HE  L/LAC  SUNBONNET.     Eighth  edition. 

"  A  love  story  pure  and  simple,  one  of  the  old-fashioned,  wholesome,  sun- 
shiny kind,  with  a  pure-minded,  sound-hearted  hero,  and  a  heroine  who  is  merely  a 
pood  and  beautiful  woman  ;  and  if  any  other  love  story  half  so  sweet  has  been  written 
this  year,  it  has  escaped  our  notice." — New  York  Times. 

"The  general  conception  of  the  story,  the  motive  of  which  is  the  growth  of  love 
between  the  young  chief  and  heroine,  is  delineated  with  a  sweetness  and  a  freshness, 
a  naturalness  and  a  certainty,  which  places  'The  Lilac  Sunbonnet'  among  the  best 
stories  of  the  time." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  In  its  own  line  this  little  love  story  can  hardly  he  excelled.  It  is  a  pastoral,  an 
idvl — the  story  of  love  and  courtship  and  marriage  of  a  fine  young  man  and  a  lovely 
rirl — no  more.  But  it  is  told  in  so  thoroughly  delightful  a  manner,  with  such  playful 
himor,  such  delicate  fancy,  such  true  and  sympathetic  feeling,  that  nothing  more  could 
be  desired." — Boston  'Traveller. 


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